There it was again. Like a good friend returning. It was clean and it was pure. Hate. Apart from the relentless heat, it was the dominant factor in my life and had been for years.
It wasn't just random hate; it was specifically focused on the thing on the horizon, approaching the station. Some regarded it as a person, some just called it The Messenger. For me it was The Thing. It had been destroying my family for as long as I could remember, and I had sworn years ago that I would never forgive and never forget. It didn't matter that The Thing was the sole reason for our existence and the existence of this messenger station where we lived, or that we had to obey and serve it. One day, I would have my revenge, consequences be damned.
My parents had told me that there were many messengers, but only one came here. I knew that, even though I had never seen its face.
All I could see was a small dust plume, but I could already feel the hate that was always simmering under the surface start to flare up and focus. I knew it was him. No one else ever visited this damn station.
The messenger station was the last outpost of civilization before the radiation zone began. It sat in the flat, endless desert like a foreign object. Like a splinter, disturbing the perfect desolation. It looked like a tiny, but impenetrable, black castle. Mainly because that's exactly what it was.
When I was a child, a man had reached the station with the last of his strength, coming from the radiation zone. Before he died, he told us that there were huge ruined cities there, but devoid of any life. No one but The Thing had come by since then, and it had never traveled any further. We were literally at the end of the world.
Mom and Dad had already gone down to the courtyard to greet him in their usual "proper," meaning disgustingly servile, way. Rationally, I knew they had no choice. The Thing was as powerful as God. He was the queen's spy, judge and executioner. The station existed to support him. Our lives meant nothing. They were reasonably comfortable because for some reason, the queen wanted this station to exist. It didn't change anything about my hatred for him.
My parents kept telling me we were the lucky ones. After all, we were alive. But what good was being alive if it meant prostrating and prostituting yourself before this Thing? One day, I promised myself. One day, my rage would claim its due. In that promise was my only hope for self-respect.
I knew that everyone in the few remaining towns we knew of would kill us without hesitation to be able to live here. It didn't change a thing; this was a matter of principles. I was eighteen, old enough to understand what I saw and the resulting clean, righteous hate was inevitable.
I took one last look through the old telescope. Like many things surrounding us, it was hi-tek, pre-war. Like many hi-tek things, its advanced functions were dead. Unlike many broken hi-tek things, this one was still of some use, as a plain telescope.
Reluctantly, I left the lookout post and made my way towards the courtyard. My presence was expected and required, and this was not the time to reveal my plans, mostly because I didn't have any. All I had were violent dreams of revenge and the certainty that my chance would come. How did I know? I didn't know, and didn't care. I just knew.
I dragged myself into the hateful courtyard. The gate was already open, and my parents were waiting in the searing heat for The Thing to arrive. I was expected to stand at their side and bow to him. I felt like I had to puke, but I loved them and didn't want to cause trouble for them, so I did what I had to do. As always, I hated myself a little for it.
The Black Queen was evil incarnate and the messengers we served were her most powerful tools. Black was the royal color; we lowly peasants were forbidden to wear it. Needless to say, the figure emerging from the shimmering heat was completely black. A black horse carried a black clad figure under a black cloak. The hood and the face mask with the weirdly pointed beak nose must have been uncomfortable as hell in the heat. Inwardly, I smiled as I imagined him sweating bullets inside that costume. He was not imposingly big and his stance wasn't impressive either. Still, I had never seen anyone challenge his absolute power. The reason for that was on his right leg.
The Gun.
Like all working guns in our world, it was hi-tek. There were older, non hi-tek, but still pre-war, guns around, but nobody had ammunition for those, anymore. The messenger's gun was a huge thing, almost half a meter long and as thick as my arm. In the dark, you could see it shimmering blueish ever so slightly, meaning it had accepted its bearer and would work for him. That blue shimmering was the true source of his and the queen's power. That didn't make it legitimate. Nothing could.
As usual, we stood in the courtyard in silence, awaiting our fate, like the damn servants we were. As usual, I watched my parents trying to act like we were one happy family. As usual, you could cut the tension with a knife. My father stood there, a shell of his former self, weak and broken, like a beaten cur awaiting the kick that would finally break him. Each messenger visit seemed to suck more life out of him. He was turning from a man into a victim. He seemed aged beyond his years, his eyes showing a sadness that fueled my anger every time I saw them.
My mother just stood there, pretty as always, a thin smile pasted on her face, unmoving as a messenger mask, pretending that nothing was wrong. I really tried to hold onto the last remains of my love for her. We all knew what was going on, and we never talked about it. I knew losing me was driving her crazy, but she was on the wrong and I wasn't about to make this easier for her.
Finally, It rode into the courtyard like it belonged to him, which was probably quite close to the truth. As usual, my father rushed to his side to help him dismount and as usual, he was brushed away like the fly he was turning into. Groveling, my mother curtsied in front of the asshole, smiling in a sickeningly inviting way. In a heroic effort, I again did my best not to puke and to keep my face neutral.
As always, It just ignored them and turned in my direction. I could see the watery blue eyes behind his polished black mask as he tried to stare me down. This had become our welcome ritual. Despite my parents' admonitions, I refused to curtsy before him. His eyes seemed amused as he watched me, like watching a prey that he could play with, that couldn't escape anyway. I vowed that I would find a way to beat him. Unfortunately, that meant beating the whole kingdom, which was a bit much, even for a clever eighteen-year-old like me. My time would come: I could wait, and as I waited, my hatred of him and the whole damn system would only burn hotter.
I could have sworn that he could read my mind. If he could, he obviously found what he saw amusing, as he chuckled before he turned around to retreat to the messenger room.
The messenger room was totally off limits for me. I knew every nook and cranny in the station, but I didn't have the faintest idea about that room. In my mind, it was a lush place, full of luxury and totally different from the frugal and functional rest of the station.
Silently, not looking at each other, we left the courtyard to tend to our duties. Mine was to take care of the horse and it was a welcome task, distracting me from what was to follow.
When it was time to go to bed, I again couldn't resist peeking along the hallway. I watched in silent horror as my mother left their bedroom and walked towards the messenger room. Again, it tore at my heart to hear my father sobbing in their bedroom. Again, I felt powerless rage overwhelm me, unsure at whom it was directed. I wanted to scream, but fought the urge. Later, damn it. Later. My time would come.
Helplessly, I watched my mother enter the messenger room to enjoy an evening of adulterous sex. Again, I felt like she betrayed me, my father and herself. I felt like my father betrayed us all by accepting this, allowing himself to be broken and humiliated. And I felt like I had betrayed myself with my silent acceptance. I hated them and I hated myself, but most of all, I hated the damn Thing.
