The Machine

By Lex Williams

WARNING: Contains high impact horror and mature themes. Discretion is advised.

After a series of surreal murders, the police detective Nkemdilim deputises Brita, a well known art critic, to assist her in trying to interpret the cause of the attacks. What follows is a horrific and surreal journey that involves the relationship of people to art, and the nature of humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lex Williams
• Release date: Dec 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310707537

Lex Williams

Lex Williams is a novelettist ( although occasionally writing novellas with the rare novel ) whose intent is to take advantage of self-publishing stories to provide interesting, different and weird ideas that you won't find in traditionally published stories. Williams typically writes for the horror genre ( usually dipping into the surreal variety ), but has explored other areas, such as ( non erotic ) romance and science fiction.

Book preview

The Machine

Lex Williams

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Lex Williams

Thanks to my editor, Lee Cope, who I found through writerfind.com.

Thanks to my cover artist, Pius Pranoto, who I found at deviantart.com under the username, telaga.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

Other Titles by Lex Williams

Connect with Lex Williams

1

The man watched the woman turn to him. He waved his arm toward the audience. To do what you have done to me is not a thing that I would wish on any other. He turned away from her. How much have you given? All to them. And how much have you left to give?

She stepped closer. To them? Oh, honey. Just let-

Stop it. Don't do this. Again. I've heard your reasons why - for them. You tell me how it matters; it does not. Please understand, not everything revolves around you. He glanced over his shoulder. Others stand and wait, for what?

I want-

Enough. I know. I heard it all before. But every time I'm cast aside like I don't matter anymore. I'm done with you. Just give them everything. It's clear to me that you just never cared. He trudged off-stage, leaving her alone.

Brita watched from the audience, jotting down notes in her book. This was a clear parallel to the implied theme of the woman representing art in general, while the man represented the world outside of it. It was building to a climax, but what?

It was unlikely to be a positive one, given the tension from their on-stage stares. But how far would it go? Perhaps she would leave him. What would that mean in terms of theme? That would imply that art should be divorced from the world outside it, but that wouldn't be right. That would contradict an earlier scene.

The woman turned to the audience. For all the good I wanted, I have brought my ruin, dragging it behind me. Everybody wants a piece of me. But I am only one. Like gold; there's some that have me, or, there's all who're poor together. Who do I decide is worthy of the girl?

The man ran back onto the stage and grabbed the woman's throat. She choked as he grunted. She fell to her knees. He screamed, And even now, as all your breath is taken, still you can't be there for me. He punched her in the face. And why are they just so important? Selfish fuck. He kicked her in the stomach.

She collapsed onto the ground. He stomped her head and spat on her, shaking his head before wandering off-stage.

Brita made a single note. It was clear to her, from almost the beginning, that this commentary was on the conflict between artist and society, framed from the perspective of the artwork and its relationship with society.

The key was that the metaphor was taken literally.

The woman leaned on her elbows and spat blood onto the stage. She looked at the audience. My life is fading from this world. And all that I have left inside is one performance. My final curtain.

The woman slipped a knife out of pocket and rolled onto her back. She screamed as cut into her stomach, slicing it from one side to the other. She picked through the raw organs and dumped them beside her, finally pulling out a malformed foetus.

She leaned on her knees and held the foetus up. It twitched and let out an inhuman cry, dangling above her bloody organs. A wicked smile drew itself over the woman's face. This is mine. I brought this here, into this world. And I decide its fate. And I decide it's much too late.

She slammed the foetus against the ground, spraying blood across the stage. The foetus split in two. It spilled rank pus on top of the blood.

2

Excerpt from Art and Reality;

Art is known, and sometimes best known, for it pushing bounds and raising questions. Yet, even art, when in its most offensive and grotesque shape, is still distinct from being an intended act of harm. Intended acts of harm shall be referred to simply as just 'terrorism'.

The distinction is in how they're executed. Art is something that an individual will willingly experience, and as such it is chosen by the person. This is how it stays within the realm of art. The terrorism, as you might expect, is not a choice the victim makes.

Triggers, for example, cause a person sudden flashbacks and intense distress. This may be caused for anyone from any form of art. However, we assume the triggered individual has taken the precautions to avoid that ( we assume that warnings are in place, presented by the artist, to provide some aid in this. ), which we then hold opposed to holding such a person down and forcing them to relive their pain.

One's a choice, the other's an attack.

3

Brita sat in her living room, staring at the giant eye on her desk. She struggled to articulate her thoughts into words. The play wasn't bad, its concept and overall themes were interesting. But it had a shaky foundation, as not all of the events gelled with the ideas.

She sighed and turned to her TV. The remote was lying on the ground. She needed a distraction