TOUCHED

TOUCHED - Prologue

Prologue

It was the smell that finally woke me; the putrid, clinging scent was a combination of rotting garbage, chemicals and road kill. I was forced to breathe through my mouth to keep from choking on the stench. The buzz of flies came next, followed by the feeling of being on a water bed full of lumps and poles. I opened my eyes and had to blink at the sun, high in the sky.

Gradually, an awareness and sensations came back to my limbs in uncomfortable pin pricks. I was groggy as I struggled against the foreign and pliable forms around me. It took several minutes before I conceded that it was my own hair that restrained me. The long, dark braid that usually hung down to my waist was caught on something beneath me and out of reach. The first tendril of panic caressed the edges of my composure. What if I couldn’t pull free? I would be trapped. Panicked, I thrashed frantically for several minutes with no effect.

Shaking, my right hand went for the waistband of my pants and the small knife it was concealing. I fished it out of its hiding place and flipped the blade open. The small shard of razor sharp metal flashed in the sun while I hesitated, debating the cost of what I was about to do. I saw no other choice.

Slowly, I put the blade to the back of my neck, sharp side away from my skin; I clenched my jaws in determination, and started sawing. Each portion of the thick dark braid took a piece of my heart; each strand tugging at my scalp before falling away. I cut until the braid was completely amputated.

Finally unrestrained, I pulled myself up into a sitting position. Shading my eyes from the sun I looked around. A shallow breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding with panic. A voice inside my head was screaming but the shock was too solid of a barrier. I allowed no sound to escape my lips as I took in the scene and the faces around me. I appeared to be in a large trench, half filled with dead bodies. Above the edges of my grave I could see the outline of a dense forest.

Swallowing hard I pulled myself together, taking inventory and resisting the urge to throw up. Not an easy task considering the knot my stomach had twisted itself into. The tension eased when I reached for the small leather pouch strapped to my right ankle. It was still there, a hacked and then disabled Guardian and a few folded papers, was undisturbed. I sagged in relief for a moment, my pulse returning to normal.

It didn’t take long to realize that all that was left of my supplies were the clothes I had been wearing. My food, survival gear and weapons were all gone except for the small knife. I folded the silver blade back into the rounded orange handle. It always looked like a piece of climbing equipment when it was closed. I returned the knife to the slit I had made on the inside of my waistband, working it in between the soft layers of denim until it was too snug to come loose.

Looking down into the piles of limbs, trying to avoid the open mouthed faces, I dimly saw forms in body bags several layers down. No longer white, the bags were molding everywhere that sunlight didn’t directly reach. Judging by the layers, I guessed that it was an older pit. Mostly likely it was one of the first. I wondered for a second if I should be honored. This place had history. Another glance around reminded me that no one else was impressed. Dead was dead.

My strength was returning slowing but the stench was already too much. A remote part of my brain was thankful for the dull ache in my stomach that reminded me it was already empty. Carefully I extracted myself from the bodies of those whom I had been tossed in with, careful not to look too closely at my would-be grave mates.

With a practiced care, I worked my way across the graphic mound until my boots reached bare earth. I jogged to the ramp that had been left for the backhoe. As I followed fresh tire tracks up the gently sloping dirt I noticed that the backhoe was still parked off to the side. Other mounds of dirt were visible in the meadow, evidence of the trenches, the mass graves that had already been filled and covered.

I headed straight for the tree line thirty feet away, dropping to my knees in the damp moss under the first tree. I wrapped my arms around it and pressed my face against the trunk, breathing deeply. After a few minutes of coughing and spitting the tree was all I could smell. It was still damp from the morning fog and it smelled amazingly fresh.

I surveyed the deserted area back around the hole as the trembling in my hands stilled. It was clear by the fresh load of bodies I had been dumped with, that someone had rediscovered that site and decided to finish filling it. But that wasn’t my problem. My problem, was not being sure when the next load was scheduled to arrive. My presence would invite uncomfortable questions I was not prepared to answer yet or ever if I could help it.

I sighed to myself; this was becoming way too familiar of a scenario. I had to find new clothes and a shower. Again.

__________________________________

After the last great economic implosion, governments crumbled and threatened the globe with chaos. The largest companies in the world stepped in and restored order, replacing the rotting democracies with corporate boards and extensive trade commissions. To balance the shift in power the United Nations stepped in.

The Biological Asset Right Act enacted by the UN and adopted by corporate-tized nation states world-wide established the following:

It is the Human Element that makes all progress and enlightenment possible.

In a hyper industrialized global economy, the rights of the individuals to personal, mental, emotional and especially physical safety must be recognized and protected at a level that reflects our intelligence as a species.

Technology has finally evolved to adequately safeguard its creators. Every conceivable physical impulse and need can be met through simulations, medical intervention and continued evolution of the human-technological interface with its environment.

There is no longer any ethical or logical reason to continue the violence inherent in human touch that inevitably leads to irresponsible reproduction. The dependence on human touch has perpetuated a corrosive cycle of mental, emotional and physical abuse that has stunted the progress of mankind and left a dark and inexcusable stain on our history.

To eliminate ambiguous lines between sexual and non-sexual touch, to recoup the countless resources wasted hourly world-wide attempting to define, and prosecute, every obscure implication that exists between a single touch and rape; all skin to skin contact has been eliminated and simultaneously recognized as rape.

The human race is has been declared a protected species. The penalty for violation of which is quarantine and rehabilitation for the first violation and death for the second.