The Warm Chromatic Mechanism: The Essential James Ferace

By James Ferace

"(James Ferace is) one of the most exciting new contemporary voices in fiction." - Gregory Norris, author of "The Fierce and Unforgiving Muse"

"The Warm Chromatic Mechanism" is a collection of ten stories from author James Ferace ("Imago Mortis," "Somnambulism," "Ockham's Razor"), hand chosen by the author himself and considered by many to be some of his best work.

Includes: "Afterbirth," "Blunt Force Trauma," "Cathal," "Delusions of Grandeur," "The Garden of Euthanasia," "Grief Scripture," "Lusus Naturae," "Quietus," "The Residue of Design," and "Wisdom Teeth."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329616837

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The Warm Chromatic Mechanism: The Essential James Ferace

The Warm Chromatic Mechanism: The Essential James Ferace

By James Ferace

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

© 2015 James Ferace

All rights reserved.  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Contents:

I. Afterbirth

II. Blunt Force Trauma

III. Cathal

IV. Delusions of Grandeur

V. The Garden of Euthanasia

VI. Grief Scripture

VII. Lusus Naturae

VIII. Quietus

IX. The Residue of Design

X.    Wisdom Teeth

Afterbirth

I never wanted to be a father.  The reasons I had were not few.  Of course, there was the obvious, but there was a mental list I had meticulously crafted over my many years of existence which contained endless, much more subversive concepts than I feel many would have assumed of me.  First there was the simplistic, such as the idea that some little creature would be so dependent on me being absolutely terrifying.  But I'm sure that is quite common and the fear I had of that did not make me unique in any specific way.  Naturally, there were more.  Not, per se, your average reasons you hear most men say when they don't want to venture into the realm of parenthood.  It wasn't that I just wanted to remain a boy forever and play video games on the couch and sleep in my own filth.  No, it went much deeper than that, knowing full well how ridiculous I might sound in stating that...and the risk of eye rolling.  I explained them to a few people, people who I thought were close to me and would understand and sympathize on some level.  And, even though it turned out that I was wrong and they did not understand, the fact still remained that I did not feel that I should ever be put in charge of shaping and molding a young mind.  What sort of things would I teach a child?  Even more frightening to me was the prospect of what, exactly, they might teach me about myself.  The things I didn't want to see nor want to know.  Worse, things I knew were there, but never wanted to acknowledge or face.

But I digress.  I would like to say that these were the only elements that prevented me from ever carrying on my lineage, but...  Sure, I had many of the usual doubts, fears, reservations which just about any individual might experience...to the point where I was almost turned inside out by them all.  Also, I was always so uncertain of myself, alone, so...it seemed only logical that I remain one and not spread my seed around, allowing the misery to become legion.  Besides, another routine concern of just what kind of world would they be coming into also dug both its claws deep into my thought patterns.  And, of all the torturous days I'd lived.  I'd never want them to bear witness to any of that.  I'd been seated in the front row of the grandest disappointment.  The tragedy called Living.  Did I really want to pass a ticket on to another, only to stand idly by and watch their heart shatter as mine did so many occasions?  Yes, I would, in turn, be doing them the favor that I'd always wished my parents had done for me.  I was preventing suffering...and not just my own.  I was bringing less pain into the world.  Or, at least these are some of the things I would tell myself to make it seem less selfish and, perhaps, make it almost appear to be a noble act on my part.  But, in all seriousness, the reasons were real.  To me.  And everyone who knew me knew it.

And then, of course, was the big one.  The one little splinter in the toe of my entire being.  Something so wrought with anxiety at the mere imagining which was always present.  Never masking itself or being concealed in any such way as to allow me release from it.  That tiny finger which tapped on my window at night, awaking me from desired slumber, preventing sleep, causing an extremely loose grip on whatever type of rationality that ever laid itself within my grasp.  The one main reason why I had always chosen to keep myself a secular being who would never branch out and leave zero legacy of which I never spoke aloud to anyone except a very chosen few.  A chosen few who would regularly abuse it rather than cherish or respect it, causing me only to reveal it to even fewer souls.  So it goes.

All this and more was why it seemed all the stranger that a friend of mine would call me up and request of me help in watching his child for the day.  After a few moments of stunned silence, he inquired if I was still there on the other end of the phone.  I was, I told him, and he continued.  He said that he and his wife, who was already pregnant with their next child, weren't feeling well and he didn't want his little boy, still an infant himself (yeah, they worked quickly), to catch whatever it was that they had.  Immediately thoughts crossed my head about why they didn't think to use protection and I came dangerously close to voicing this thought as I soon felt extremely cornered and was grasping for straws for methods of invariable escape.  Part of me wondered if I were able to concoct an argument if that would alleviate any trace of obligation I might have had...or at least was having forced on me.  But, mind and tongue were not cooperating and I found myself at a complete loss for words, even something that might hurt or offend him.

Well...I mean...are you sure you want ME to watch him?  Me? I stuttered.

He answered back as if he knew what a crazy decision that is, but then went on to explain that he was in a bit of a bind and wasn't able to find anyone else available.  I started to respond that I understood his predicament, but that I really didn't think this was a good idea, regardless.  He paused for a really long time and, when he finally answered back, sounded as if he was fighting back tears.  Apparently, the illness was pretty bad and he was desperate.

Please? he asked, voice cracking a bit.

I sighed, loudly, but not offensively, letting him know that I was sympathetic to his pain and, despite my reluctance, really did wish to help.  I'm not entirely sure he bought it, but he sighed in return.  Unfortunately, he knew me, quite well in fact.  This can be a good thing, for someone to know you.  Times like this it is a easily a negative, as it was always on the tip of his brain what kind of a person I was.  While he would just keep right on walking, never missing a single step, as a woman dropped her purse and spilled all the contents out onto the wet sidewalk, he knew clearly that I was not.  He'd laugh at me when I would stop to help an apparently lost child only to be scolded by their parent who I just didn't see.  He would relish in my embarrassment.  It didn't take long for him to play the right cards, sensing my ever-present humanity and taking full advantage of it.  I never really agreed to it, not in the most literal sense.  I never said Yes, I never even nodded loud enough for him to hear on the other end.  Regardless, I soon found myself discussing things like diaper bags and bottles and the proper way to feed him, etc.  Jesus, God, what am I doing? I thought, savagely running my damp fingers through my greasy hair.

I arrived at their door, my hand stretched out in front of me, just sort of hovering there in the air as the reluctance to use it overtook me.  There was a certain scent in the breeze that carried passed me in distressed hums, causing my arms to tingle.  My erect hand quickly found itself going limp as I was overwhelmed by the entire undertaking that laid out before me.  I rapidly thrust it into my pocket to dry its dampness with the balled-up wad of tissue paper which had been there since Lord knows when.  I began to imagine what was going through my thoughts the day I put it in there and whether I could ever have imagined a day like today when I did.  My tangential thoughts suddenly interrupted by the door in front of me quickly swinging open as if my presence was sensed out here.  I froze.  Donald stood on the other side and it instantly became clear to me where that stale, pallid aroma had originated, as it nearly poured through the entryway and engulfed me.  Don...uh...hi, I spoke nervously.  Hey he said back, in a weakened mucusy voice, C'mon on in.  Noticeably hesitant for countless reasons, my mouth opened after several uncomfortable seconds as I pondered a limitless list of excuses to remove myself from the entire ordeal and coming up with not a single one that sounded believable enough to work.

M...maybe I'd better wait out here...y'know?  He looked too tired to be offended or offer up any sort of argument.  He didn't even look like he had the strength to look confused as in a loud, more birstly voice uttered back a bemoaned Yeah...yeah.  Donald then vanished behind the door for several minutes as my eyes looked around at the beautiful, though mildly brisk, day that was all around me - and briefly, but seriously, considered making a run for it.  A few thumps came from behind the door and, several uncomfortable instances later, I heard the soft cooing of the infant.  I swallowed hard and tapped my foot nervously, feeling my hairline suddenly becoming warm and moist.  The door then swung open once more and Donald came further out into the sunlight than he had before, child and diaper bag in hand.  That was when I witnessed fully just how atrocious he looked.  From the corner of my eye, it was easy to witness how bleak and sunless the place was behind him, with what appeared to be not a single shade or window open to counter the unlit walls or stale air.  But he stood there, eyes glazed over white, skin glistening and slick in display, not to mention a virtually greenish hue that painted both his cheeks and forehead.  All of this, to me, flirted with something much worse than a common cold or flu, even.

Jesus, Don...are you guys...okay?

Yeah, he mumbled back, damn near incoherently, Simone's got the worst of it.

The worst of what?

I don't know, he drunkenly wiped his eyes, Ever since she got pregnant again...I dunno.

Have you been to the doctor?  I barely could finish the question when I was closely interrupted with a depressed snicker from Don.

She screams at me when I even mention the word 'doctor.'

Well, I mournfully replied, What about yourself?

He brought up the right sleeve of his robe in a rather pathetic manner and slowly wiped his clammy forehead with it and looked up at me with swollen eyes.

She won't let me leave her side.

The confusion was plastered all over me, but his vision went straight to the ground and stayed there.  Before the whole mood became too uncomfortable, he quickly thrust the child and bag into my hand - thanking me quickly, but only once, for watching him.

Don, I snapped, briskly trying to get a word in before the door shut, You really should... and felt that sickening atmosphere inside bluster towards me once more as the door closed in front of me, aborting any attempt I was making at voicing my growing concern.  My eyes hung there for several seconds in shaken disbelief and bewilderment.  No sound came from the other side of the door and my vision lingered for just a moment on a small, centipede-like insect crawling up near the hinges as my brain tried to put in order everything that that just happened.  I probably would have stood there all day, stunned and ungainly, if the child hadn't warbled out a few soft vowels.  I looked down at him as a small bubble of saliva formed on his lips and then quickly popped, leaving traces of it around his mouth and cheek.  The mood was swiftly broken and I smirked down at him.

Surprisingly, the day moved vigorously along once I seemed to get passed the initial period of understandable awkwardness.  I was also a little thrown off by the fact that I wasn't given any feeding directions and even more thrown, and vaguely terrified, by the fact that I had never changed a diaper before.  But, I have to admit that, all-in-all, it wasn't going so bad.  Entirely unsure as to what I should do with a child that size for an entire day, I decided to take advantage of the nice weather and spend the day mostly outside.  Besides, I figured he'd been cooped up inside long enough in that dark, putrid-smelling apartment.  The fresh air definitely could do him no harm.  The day was not without a few bumps, however.  In fact, one came rather early on.  After a few hours of walking around, I decided to rest my feet by sitting on the edge of the fountain near the center of the park we'd made our way to.  It seemed to me like as good a time as any to attempt to feed the child.  Although, to be entirely honest, he was being so quiet that I had no idea as to whether he hungry or not at all.  Odd, I thought, for a child I'd always heard screaming on the other end of the phone in the background whenever Don would call.  But I gave it my best.  I figured it would kill three birds with one stone.  I'd be able to rest, as well as make sure the infant is fed, and also kill some time.  Anything at all to kill some time and get this whole trial over with.

As I clumsily mixed the cereal and gave him a few spoonfuls, however, he did not seem appreciative and acted rather annoyed every time the spoon got anywhere near his face.  He spit up twice, almost instantly.  One time, embarrassingly enough, right into the fountain water.  As I gathered him up to ensure that wouldn't happen twice, I noticed several people shooting angry and disgusted glances at me, quickly withdrawing their feet from the fountain.  But there wasn't anything I could have done.  It happened so quickly.  I only had a moment to feel disconcerted when, as I was wiping his mouth clean, I noticed something.  Near his neck was a small area of gray which, naturally, caught my eye.  I leaned in closer to inspect it and found myself baffled by its origin.  I slowly touched it with my fingers.  This odd, quarter-sized mark, to which my eyes widened when it seemed to let loose with the slightest pressure of my index.  The little boy's eyes were now closed, so it did not appear that I was disturbing him in any way, so I further poked at it, digging ever-so-slightly with my fingernail, only to see it break softly and stick to my finger.  My head jerked backwards in response and I looked around me in disbelief and then back down at my hand.  As I drew my finger away from the child's neck, the mark moved along with me, a kind of natural adhesive underneath it, not unlike a spider's web, drawing along behind my hand.

With a slight twist, it gave easily and I brought the tiny piece that stuck with me up to my nose and cautiously sniffed it.  Peculiar.  I couldn't place it.  Not pleasant, but not entirely repugnant, either.  It was unlike anything my nose had ever detected before.  I didn't quite know what to make of it, but assumed, as one might, that children get into all kinds of stuff and paid it only a fraction of mind.  I soon was digging around in my pocket once again and pulled that old crumpled rag from it and, wetting it with my mouth, wiped the remainder of it off the child's neck, stuffing it back into my pocket when finished.  I'll admit to having to fight back my confusion from returning full force as I looked down at the apparently sleeping infant, and stood to gather everything up and walk once again.  As I did, I felt a certain tug in my leg, which reminded me most unpleasantly of an old injury I had in it.  A mild ache shot up it a few times before finally fading out and I was able to walk comfortably again.  Though I began to fear it coming back on me en masse and found myself distracted with worry for quite a large amount of time from here on out.

Still, the remainder of the day was rather uneventful.  Agreeable, actually.  As time pressed on and the sky began to turn a mournful red, I brought the boy to the top of a hill near the woods to watch the sun set.  As I sat there, indian-style on that mound of grass,