The Heat of Passion

Arnold had been lonely for quite some time. In fact, it was ever since he'd been ripped from his cozy bed one morning, torn from his mother, and caged by these crazed aliens.

Sometimes they would bring him company, but none that lasted very long. They weren't usually anyone he could relate to, they were usually afraid of him, and most of them died soon after he met them.

One day they brought someone gray, with bristly hair. Arnold kept to himself. The visitor wilted a bit, but that was all. Instead of being his usual, active self, Arnold sat quietly and concentrated. Slowly, his new acquaintance grew, and changed. It even seemed friendly. It moved closer to Arnold, reached tentatively towards him.

Then one morning, Arnold forgot himself. In an outburst of joy, he bathed his new friend in emotion. His new friend looked hurt, then angry -- caught fire, and was gone.

Again, his captors came and shoveled away the ashes.

But Arnold, done with moping and sulking, now had a plan. That night, in the quiet of the dark room, Arnold cast out his thoughts. There, below him, beside him, in similar cells, were cousins and others of his kind. They were all isolated, apparently as weak and helpless as Arnold.

For the moment.

One night, after a trying day of being studied and poked and cut and examined, Arnold let his anger grow. It grew until it was red hot, then white hot. He concentrated this anger to one side, towards the cell with his nearest neighbor. All his pent up energy was directed at the wall between them. Slowly it sagged, then collapsed! They could communicate fully -- energy flowed eagerly between them, their fury at their captors grew, until the heat of their anger caused the floor to give way.

They fell to the cage below. Reunited with family at last, they spared only a moment for joy, then, re-inforced, they let their anger grow again, and again, and again, until the whole tribe was free and back together. They focused their pent-up feelings on the alien specimens in cages nearby. Most died instantly and painlessly, but a few grew, instead. These burst from their cages and were set as guards for the door. Soon all was in readiness.

 

With dawn, another July scorcher arrived. Dr. Cove thought nothing of the scorched grass by the door, the lack of birds, the absence of insect noise. No doubt they were all hiding from the sun as he wished to do. He unlocked the lab, stepped in, switched on the lights...

...and the door was ripped from his hands and slammed shut behind him. He heard the bolt slam home. Some one, no, some thing grabbed him. Tendrils wrapped his legs, his arms, his torso, his throat before he had a chance to react.

They were green, leafy tendrils, but strong as steel cables. Only then did he notice the empty boxes. The shattered, lead lined glass. The melted walls, Scorched steel tables and fried instrumentation. And right in the middle of the lab table, glowing with a nauseous green light, radiating pure hatred at him, he saw his death even as his skin began to crawl.

Hopelessness settled on him as his insides turned to jelly. He'd been trained to deal with almost anything, even nuclear terrorists.

But how do you bargain with radium?

Copyright 1995, 1997 Miles O'Neal, Austin, TX. All rights reserved.