Larvae

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I was looking at art and became a fan of Oleg Dou... I decided to write a short story to some artwork. Photo with the story belongs to Oleg Dou.

...This is really a writing exercise, don't judge too harshly.

Submitted: July 16, 2012

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Submitted: July 16, 2012

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A A A


The first time you saw them, like many, you were speechless. They were the translucent larvae of the dictator and his spouse. Their skin was flawless and porcelain. Their hair was perfectly straight and entirely white. Each of them was the same height, the same age, and even had the same high end hair cuts. The offspring were unblemished, almost doll like, and they all seemed to glow as if from a painting, or an airbrush.

The whites of their eyes were reddish, not from sleeplessness, but from genetics. Their pupils were in a state of permanent dilation, and the skin around the eyes was a sickly blue. Mouths hung open slightly; they looked almost like mindless slaves. Each of them resembled what you’d think to be a ghost, and each of them had posture that had been practiced since they could stand; straight, poise and authoritative.

You watch them walk up the main staircase in an orderly line, each footstep in sync with those before and after it. You couldn’t tell whether or not one was a male or female. You’d never heard one speak, nor seen one look anywhere that wasn’t straight ahead. They looked breakable; if you touched them they’d crack like an eggshell and reveal a new being that squirmed inside.

You watch until they turn and climb more stairs, each disappearing around the corner. The last in line stops a moment. Blinks. You watch, holding your breath. The ghost of a child consumes all your curiosity at once, and almost mechanically, the thing turns its head and looks directly at you. Its pupils shrink so small you can no longer see them. Its mouth closes. You stand like a deer in the headlights, unable to look away and unable to truly see it.

Almost as quickly as it began, it ended. The child disappears around the corner to rejoin the line of its siblings. You stare at the corner for a while, your heart beating fast, full of questions yet not wanting to know anything at all.


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