Compulsion Loop

Yes, I killed Mara Makovsky. But it’s not what you think. I wasn’t stumbling through the shallow soils and cracking clays of Khunale while blood as thick as syrup dripped between my fingers for the hell of it. Fuck, it was 105 degrees out. I looked down at the locket, fondling the heart-shaped copper in my unsullied hand. Despite my best efforts, Mara’s lifeblood had already seeped its way into the intricate engravings -- the ones that were unique to her. Well, to her and Brooks. When the locket’s crevices were full, she’d be gone from this plane. Somewhere better, I prayed.

My own — former— locket now featured an obvious layer of patina, changing its natural bronze to a most hideous green -- if green can be hideous. Everything within sight here was simply buttermilk with a peppering of crumbled smokey grey obelisks.

The inside of my body begged me with shooting pains and violent muscle contractions to stop, take a breath, please, Briar.

Despite my urgency, I did need to stop. I couldn’t go any further without consulting the map. I let my right shoulder go slack, allowing my rucksack to slide from my shoulder. My hands tore through vials of medicine, vintage weapons, and coins until— ah yes, the trusty map. Brooks had been right. It would come in handy down the line.

My mother always told me these maps were harder to decipher than the ones she was used to. “Calling it The Land off the Red Sea Boundary is so trite. So convoluted,” she’d droned. “I’ll never understand why they make these ridiculous changes.” Trying to explain to her that this wasn’t our world anymore, only ever fell on deaf ears. I can’t say that I blame her entirely. She never grew up the way we did, Mara, Brooks, and I. Her life was sheltered and free from brutality, safe from intemperate habits fueled by the desire to carry all before one.

She and the other parents would gossip on the park benches while their children paraded around the playground — “I just loved Alice’s lasagna at last weekend’s potluck,” Nicole’s mother would gush.

Katrina’s mom would cut her cigarette drag short to quickly chime in, “Oh no, there were far too many fennel seeds! I could barely taste the ricotta!” Then Auggie’s mother would laugh like a 1950's housewife, and the rest of the coven would join in until a cacophony of counterfeit laughter echoed through the old oak trees.

All this time, barely paying attention while 5 and 6-year-olds scratched their chins and prepared to throw hands over whose heart-shaped locket would lead them to the most desirable life partner.

That’s the thing about the lockets, you don’t get a say. As the first generation of children to be assigned one at birth, we were never used to making our own choices like our parents were. We were always assured that, “the lockets are always designed with your child’s best interests at heart.” At least that’s what the jumbotron ads convinced us. Constantly comforted by buzzwords like, cutting edge technology, advanced systems, backed by science, and the most reiterated: foolproof.

It was all promised: with innovative technology, humans will be matched with their best possible partner. And the best part? It’s all a huge scavenger hunt! Ah, yes, the “scavenger hunt appeal”. Kids love games, so what better way to get them on board than promising one that lasts their entire childhood?

I remember when I found my first and only clue. I was barely 5-years-old. The engraving in my locket lit up as a dead raven fell from the sky and landed directly in front of me. When consulting the locket manual, it was determined that this meant one thing and one thing only: my life partner was no longer with us. I was now the girl who would die alone. That was, unless their “cutting edge technology” found a way to get me a new one. Apparently they “weren’t quite there yet.”

The government’s underlying hopes of creating the perfect offspring in a newly formed utopia was already falling apart at the seams. I knew there would be no rose garden or white picket fence for me. That was, until I saw Brooks for the first time.

In the distance, an explosion shattered one of the town’s last remaining holy sites. I shook my head quickly, thoughts of unbothered housewives falling with the sediments which already carpeted my hair. I had to move faster. My eyes scanned the muddied paper… just west of the border, I told myself. A small brown X marked diligently with the dark outer skin of a coffee bean, told me exactly where I needed to be. If the building that just blew up behind me was the chapel… I had to head further east, closer to the old border. Drops of Mara’s blood weeped from her locket and claimed the tattered yellow page as their own. I rolled the map back up and shoved it swiftly back into my bag.

My heart pounding, I booked it east. I knew it was only a matter of time before the next sienna fireball materialized in the distance. An eruption featuring 2,750 tonnes of ammonium nitrate, followed by a glass shattering shock wave that could easily stop me in my tracks.

In a world vastly different than ours, perhaps we could have easily coexisted with wildlife. Aptly sharing each country’s natural resources, with no battle for food, drink, or shelter. Things are different now, and in the face of many mass extinctions, humans are naturally at war with the surviving few, fighting for absolute dominance and dominion. Here, in the semi-arid land known as the cradle of civilization, we have but one enemy: the New Hamadryas. An Old World primate which has adapted to take all comers. These creatures are relentless and any display of their apical canines is considered a death sentence — unless you’re prepared for a Mexican standoff. I bring this up now, because this is the part in my story where I do just that. At that moment, I could feel my heart drop to my feet. You’re not supposed to make eye contact.

Never make eye contact.

It was too late. Our eyes locked, and we stared at each other on tenterhooks. There was a dagger in my rucksack, but at what point could I move without provoking the maned beast? We could have leered at each other for hours. It knew it had the advantage and was willing to wait it out until I slipped up. Just then, I noticed something metallic being dropped from the sky. Shit. If there was one thing worse than an altercation with a Hamadryads, it was an impending parachute mine. Nothing like 2,200 pounds of pure magnetic detonators coming at you at 64km an hour. Once it hit the ground, I’d have approximately 25 seconds to get the hell outta dodge. Then suddenly: an arrow pierced the primate’s skull, killing it instantly. In the near distance, I saw him. Brooks. Even in the sweltering heat he looked perfect. In that moment, I realized Mara’s death hadn’t been for nothing. The tattoos that veiled his sturdy arms, his air of reckless abandon… then he started running in the opposite direction. My initial reaction was fury, how could— then I remembered. I dropped my rucksack in a frantic attempt to rid myself of any excess weight as I made a mad dash away from the parachute mine. It was coming in hot, and there was nowhere close enough that would provide substantial shelter from loose shrapnel. The affected radius would no doubt be huge, so I took cover where I could, behind a cluster of cacti and a large boulder. With my head tucked between my legs and my eyes squeezed shut, I braced my body for pain… for any sort of impact. Nothing. I know time feels like it slows down in times of immediate crisis, but it had to have been over 25 seconds. I unfolded my body and peered over the boulder. It hadn’t detonated. The bomb hadn’t detonated! I saw Brooks come running towards me at full speed. His arms wrapped around my waist and I leaned in to kiss him. As we took a step back from each other, I removed my old locket and looped its chain around a cactus. My body was shaking as I took Mara’s locket and placed it around my own neck.

It was then that I took off my headset. Moonlight cascaded through the open-air arena. Thousands of spectators sat with their eyes pinned to the jumbotron, or more specifically, the jumbotron displaying the scene we just left. My bloody hand intertwined with Brooks’. Our names on the scoreboard: Briar and Brooks. They looked so good together. The two of us, now ranked among the top echelon of players in the nation. The sporadic hoots and hollers from audience members reverberated across the stadium. Beside me, Brooks removed his headset and for a brief moment, we stared at each other; our breathing heavy and our sweat-soaked hair plastered to our faces, necks, and scalps. The next thing I knew, my face was pressed between his sticky hands and our lips were crashing together. It was everything I hoped it would be. The crowd seemed to agree, as a standing ovation ensued. When our lips finally parted, our faces hovered mere inches from each other before our heads turned in unison to face the ground. Mara’s bloodied corpse, mangled and beaten, robbed of her dignity. Not much remains of her once elaborate haptic suit. It’s a dog eat dog world. Yes, I killed Mara Makovsky, but it’s not what you thought, was it?