Buttons

BUTTONS

G. Alexander Virden

The day didn't break. It came up slow and grey, with no solid definition between night and day. The thickening of hanging clouds were not black, nor did they show any depth. The edges of the field faded before reaching the windbreak of knotted spruce that appeared as lonely footless ghouls in the mist. The jagged, unkempt, grade of the land blended into a green-brown haze in less distance than a small child could throw a heavy stone. The grass, choked with weeds, still held most of its summer green. Patches of brown, where vegetation had gone to seed in preparation for winter, were scattered around like haphazard brush strokes on an unlikely canvass.

He looked up from the patch of earth he'd been searching for new growth. None of spring's abundance was left to be found. It had been a dry summer. Though it was moist now, it was too late to coax up any new tender shoots. His lids came slowly over his brown eyes in a long blink. His long upper and lower lashes having time to mesh before he opened his eyes. He sighed deeply.

'They would bring no food today.' They never came on dismal wet days; he would have to make do with what was here. At first he had not been able to eat it without vomiting it completely out. He learned, sullenly, if he ground the grass in his teeth long enough it became palatable enough to swallow and he had survived.

He shivered. His coat was damp from the constant drizzle. It clung to him like a creature of misery. He longed for the short cool nights and the long hot days of summer. He walked over to his brother.

'Cold.' His brother nodded and moved closer to him. While the close proximity of another being might not actually make his flesh warmer outside, he felt the warmth inside. They were the only twins in confinement. He felt communication with his brother like no one else. There were times when he had gone off alone to test the wires of the border. His brother had found him and tended the burns from the wire, with his spit. Then he stood by quietly, while heavy tears caked his wounded brother’s face.

He looked at his mother. Though he had long since been weaned from her tit, he longed to suckle her for relief from the green pulp that had been his diet for more days than he could remember. His brother let out a deep sigh to acknowledge the desire and stepped closer to him until their shoulders were touching. After a moment his brother shrugged his head, bent down, and began to rip grass away from the ground. It would take all day to eat; they might as well get started.

Looking down at the ground he couldn't bring himself to eat the picked over remains of summer. He decided to try the edges of the field. If he was careful, he might be able to reach through the wire, to the untouched growth outside the border.

Walking slowly his feet dragged with apathy. He stared at the ground, seeing it but not registering it, like a camera with no film. His foot knocked across one the piles and scattered it. The white bubbles that grew on the piles after it rained, rolled into the grass. He examined them. He knew the piles weren't for eating, but these were not part of the piles, they grew on them. He bent down, took a few, and began to chew them.

'Bitter, not bad bitter.' Certainly no worse than the grass. He ate the rest of the mushrooms, along with some grass, then went to find more.

None of these decisions were thoughts. His mind was too dull from the repetitive days in confinement for that. He reacted to feelings, sensations. Little was verbalized in his mind. He had no words to describe what he felt. Things were known, there.

The drizzle stopped. He looked toward the sky hoping to see a gap in the clouds. A yellow streak of warmth flowing through to the field somewhere he could go to ease the chill that had become his constant, annoying, companion, nothing but flat soiled cotton. Staring he thought the clouds appeared to be moving, not separating, but seething. He shook his head, looked again and it stopped. He pulled a long sigh that stretched the muscles of his chest enough to hurt. Closing his eyes, he felt something flash beside him. He opened his eyes, looked around, there was nothing there.

Looking around he spotted another pile with white bubbles. He hurried over to the pile and kicked it. He ate the mushrooms with grass, chewing the mix slowly into a pulp. It tasted better than grass alone and was more filling.

When he looked around the field again, he noticed that the mist was churning. He blinked several times. The ground appeared to have waves rolling through it. He tried an unsteady step. His leg felt as if it had become longer and the bones, soft. He took another step and the ground became a sponge below him. He dropped to the ground panting.

The fall had not injured him, but he was not ready to attempt standing. He enjoyed the gentle motion of the earth and was fascinated with a tree that stood a short distance from him. Its branches and colored leaves were in constant motion, not from any breeze, from their own direction. The dance was . . . Beautiful. He shook his head, looked away from the tree, stared at nothing. The thought had been like the smack of a whip. As clear as . . . Water. He jerked again. It was an explosion of red on a field of white.

Carefully he managed to get back on his feet. The burst came again as he realized he had made the decision to stand, not simply done it. He was suddenly afraid, alone. He looked for his brother. He was busy clearing away the patch of land he'd been at earlier. Earlier? How much time had passed? Without the sun there was no way to know. He walked to his brother on sapling legs. He stood beside him for a moment before his brother looked up.

'I am afraid.' He thought, expecting his brother to understand.

His brother only cocked his head. 'Eat', was his brother's response.

He knew his brother was not answering him. He was simply throwing out a thought, a direction to be followed.

'I don't want to eat.' He bellowed. 'Something is happening to me!'

'Eat.' His brother reached down for more grass.

That was it. He strained with all his heart and his brother could not hear him. He nodded his head and turned away; tears began to run out of his eyes. He was alone, more alone than he had felt possible. His sadness took his whole attention. He no longer noticed the wondrous movement of the earth around him. He went to the dancing tree, laid down, tried to control his breathing and his raging mind. Hours later he fell asleep and dreamed.

He felt himself step over the edge and start to fall. His body shook violently. He opened his eyes. It was dawn, grey soup, dawn. He blinked several times, looked around the field. Where had he been? His brother was already eating. Suddenly he realized his stomach was in knots with hunger from not eating the day before. He got up on shaky legs and gritted his teeth against the swell of nausea. When he felt stable, he walked over to his brother.

'Cold.'

His brother stepped closer to him. 'Eat.'

They both bent down and picked up some grass.

By midday his mind was as blank as the sky over him. He moved along steadily, grinding the grass into digestible pulp, thinking of nothing. Nothing until he saw the white blisters on the pile.

*********

One of the others stood watching from the border. He had seen the other come up. They stared at each other. He walked slowly to the edge of the field. The other extended his hand and made soft noises. He came close. The other rubbed him. Made more quiet sounds. Smiled. Then repeated one sound several times mixed with the other noises. He tried to make the other's sounds, but could not.

'Please help me. Please let me out.' The other stared at him, then he made the sound again and turned away. 'Please. Please let me out.' The other could not hear him.

The day had ended with a partial sunset, the clouds beginning to break into groups. Now the sky was clear. It was colder because of it, but he didn't care. He was lying in the middle of the field, where there were no trees to block his view, looking at the stars. He had tried to get his brother to understand. His brother had only stared at him, then gone off to join the others where they huddled together for warmth.

'There. There was another one. Where did they go when the fell from the sky?'

Loud crackling sounds came from the edge of the field. 'The others.' He jumped up. 'They never came at night. Why were they here now?'

He watched them from behind a tree at the edge of the field. They had the secret to the border and entered the field with ease. They walked badly. One fell down and another pulled him to his feet and they both fell down. They passed something between them. 'Drinking. They were drinking something.'

The teenaged men stumbled across the field, laughing, sucking off the Jack Daniel's bottle like it was a right of passage tit.

"There's one." The boy pointed, passed the bottle to his friend and charged.

He couldn't move, couldn't blink as the other threw himself at one of the females knocking her over. Then he stood up, wobbling, emitting the crackling sound. The female struggled to her feet and ran away. The two others also emitted the crackling sound. He felt afraid; he didn't understand. Then one of the others charged his mother knocking her to the ground.

'Kill'. He was charging before the thought could repeat itself. 'Kill'. His heart beat twice the rate it should. The others saw him and began the run. 'They are afraid. They are afraid of me!'. He chased them to the border. They grabbed at the gate throwing it open. He charged the open gate the fell hard on the steel pipes in front of the gate. The others shut the gate, patted each other on the back and made the crackling sound, without the same bravado as before, and staggered down the road together.

Before he could stand, he had to crawl off the pipes. He limped over to his brother.

'Pain.'.

His brother moved close to him until their shoulders were touching.

He sighed many times trying to catch his breath. He did not want to cry.

*******

It was sunny with a few clouds, like scattered cotton bushes, on a deep blue plain. The others had come early and dropped off grain. He recognized one from the night before, but the other acted much different. He was quiet. He did not make the crackling sound.

His mother and brother practically fell on the grain as the others poured it into the bins. He ignored it. He went to the truck, staring at the others. He bellowed to them. They pointed at the grain.

'I want out.' He thought. That morning he had stood drinking with his brother. He'd seen both their reflections in the water before. Now his was different. He saw himself. Those were his eyes looking back at him. His own sad expression shouting the hopelessness, he felt. He had to try; he had to find a way out.

He had circled the entire confinement that morning, running as fast as he could. The wire had marked his chest several times where he had tried the border. There was no break in the wire, no place to escape.

He bellowed again. 'I want out. I want to see more.'

Again the others pointed to the grain. The truck made its rumbling noise and moved toward the gate. He followed. The others waved at him and shouted.

'I want out!' He thought. They couldn't understand.

He came to the gate where the others had laid pipes across a hole. He slipped, but managed to cross by moving carefully. One of the others jumped off the truck waving a stick. He kept moving toward the gate; he was going to get out. The other walked right up to him. He bellowed trying to make him afraid as he had the others the night before. The other brought up the stick and jabbed it against his shoulder. The pain was sudden, intense. He collapsed. The other struck him again. He had to roll, to get off the pipes. Before he could scramble to his feet and run away, the other struck him in the back. He almost collapsed again, but managed to hold his balance and run.

He stopped about a hundred yards away, turned to see the other had not followed him. The other stood, where he had been, staring at him. He spat, turned, walked across the border, and closed the gate. The other, standing in the back of the truck, was still staring at him when the truck pulled away.

******

The large truck came early in the day. He had never seen anything like it. It had many more wheels than the other truck. On the back was a big metal box, with so many holes you could see through it. They backed it up to the border gate, opened its long doors and lowered a ramp across the pipes.

The others walked into the field carrying coils of rope and the pain sticks. They came up to a male, slapped him with the coil of rope, and headed him toward the truck. He watched the other male get on the truck.

'They are taking him away. He's getting out.'

He watched as they prodded a second male onto the truck. He looked at his brother. 'They're getting out. We have to go. We have to get out!' He hurried over to the other near the truck. The other raised his stick. He stopped and stared at the other.

'Take me. I want to get out. Please let me out.'

The other lowered the stick and moved aside. He walked up the ramp on the truck.

It was cramped. He looked around and saw that his brother had made it too. His mother. His mother wasn't there. He bellowed. He heard her reply from a distance. They were not letting any of the females free. They were only letting the young males go. He bellowed again. The truck's motor covered up the response. He heard the two long doors clang shut. He would have to come back for her. He would have to find a way to set her free.

At first they passed fields that were the same as his. He called out to those like him. Some answered. Most did not. Then they turned away from the fields onto a hard path and the truck went incredibly fast. He pushed his face to the holes in the truck and watched the world streak by. There were many more trees here and the trucks were different. Most were completely closed in and small.

The truck roared to a halt. Many trucks collected around them while others passed in front of them. There were boxes, large boxes, on the sides of the hard path. He stared. One of the others came out of the box. 'That must be where the others live.' He thought.

They turned off the hard path onto another dirt path. He could hear and smell many of his kind there. There was something wrong. He could smell something else. He could sense something else. 'Fear.'

The truck backed up to a small wooden border. They opened the doors and lowered the ramp. Those in back moved quickly out of the cramp confines of the truck. He looked at his brother. 'Don't go. Stay on the truck.' His brother sighed and began to back out. 'No! Don't get off the truck.'

Left alone on the truck, he had room to turn and face the open doors. He planted his feet. 'I will not go.' The pain, stabbed him from behind. Looking back he saw the other pointing the stick through the side of the truck. He kicked at the stick, knocking it out of the other's hand. The other bellowed. Another stick came in from the other side, jabbed him, then retreated quickly. Every time he turned they stuck him from behind until, in panic, he bolted forward and they slammed the sliding gate of the border behind him.

Jumping left and right he searched wildly for an escape. There was only one way out. Up a ramp that led into the biggest box he'd seen yet. 'Many others must live in there.' He thought. 'Maybe I can make one understand.'. His brother had already started up the ramp. He followed. That was when he heard the terrified cries of the one who had gone up first. There was a crack, like when the sky filled with light, only quick.

He tried to stop. There were already many behind him and the others used their sticks to keep them moving. The border was too tight. He could not kick at the walls. Again he heard the horrible cries. Again the loud crack. Tears flowed easily from his large brown eyes. 'I have to make them understand. They have to hear me.' He concentrated. His brother moved forward.

There were two others, sitting over the tight border, at the top of the ramp. He stared at the one he recognized; the one that had made the soft sounds and patted his face. 'Hear me. You must hear me!'. Again the mad bellowing. Again the quick silence following the crack. 'No brother, don't go.'

Molded bars snapped into place around his brother's neck. The other pointed a short metal stick at his head. He cried out. The stick made the deafening sound and his brother fell limp and was pulled forward out of sight.

He stood firm, tears soaking his face, staring at the other he knew from the field. 'Please. Please don't do this to me.'. The other looked at him and tilted his head. 'He hears me. He hears me!'. He felt a sharp pain, followed quickly by another. He leaped forward before he could stop himself. The bars clamped quickly around his neck.

'Please.' He did not cry out. He knew what was happening when he felt the hot metal of the other's short stick. He would not cry out like the others. 'Please.'

The man pulled his Colt 45 back and rested it on his thigh. They watched the steer pulled forward onto the conveyor belt.

"Didn't you have a name for that one?" One hand said getting ready to close the gate on the next steer.

"Yeah, Buttons." The hand with the colt crunched his eyebrows together and chewed on, the inside of, his lip.

"Why's that?"

"Because he was always eating the mushroom buttons off the cow patties." The man watched Buttons descend into the slaughter house. "Weird."

"What?"

"Sometimes he'd look at me and I swear he was going to say something."

"He's just tripping on those mushrooms."

"Hmph, yeah." The man looked down at his pistol and sighed heavily. He looked again. Buttons had disappeared. He turned back to the hands on the ramp. "Okay let's go. Get another one up here."

THE END

Ozarts Inside Ozarts Grand View Stories By the Baron