Short Story : 101.1 Megahertz

Foggy Forest

With dirty leaden boots walking through the deliberate puddles ahead my unit was leading the return.  In the southeast sector, they had already encountered the contingent. The rain was perpetual and ubiquitous, laying sheets across the visible distance, sliced into a million fragmented droplets. Walking along the logging trail everything was soaked.  The air collapsing into empty space; crashing thunder through the air. The flashes of lightning were brief but provided our lighting ahead. Abrupt transitions from darkness to daylight. The rain droplets joined together on the leaves with perseverance and agility combining into a steady flow to the ground. Even from the distance we could smell the noxious vapor in the space ahead.

From empty space and silence came their massive machines in the expanse ahead. Appearing out of nowhere. Vaporizing trees and barren ground. Loud and obnoxious machines of metal. Twelve dwellings high. Metal wheels half as much. Length twice as much.  Twice massive machines having large octagonal wheels with traction spikes on each plateau. These machines were passive to our resistance. The mental drudgery of grinding metal is nearly more than one can endure. There is a black mist escaping from the machines. From the distance I can see soldiers emerge.

Metal soldiers marching without regard for our presence. I can feel there is something living in those metal suits. The soldiers were huge, 10 marks high, and 4 marks wide. You can feel their organic mass. Yet they are invincible. Marching immediate to our position. But having no regard to our being.

Our allies on the right try to fire, but within seconds those Kutuks are ripped apart. The mental game is enduring. They know our every move. They are too advanced. We are destroyed at the first signs of aggression. We are powerless.

Soldiers wearing huge metal suits that chant in harmony as they march. I can hear them in my mind saying “Kutuks are useless.” They are in me. I can feel them. I can’t resist. “Weak beings just try to resist”, they say in my mind.  Although we try hiding, they see us, but with no regard for our presence. They don’t care to leave the path to seek our presence. Only those that resist are slaughtered and ripped apart without attempt.

These creatures are far advanced from us. They marched on the forest where I am. We are like ants to them. Attempts to fire weapons at them failed. Quickly destroying those that attack them, not even leaving screams of pain. Uninterested in non-hostiles, they approach within several feet to our position. We are ignored, but they are right beside us in our minds. Our weapons are useless to defend against them.

Those giants have amazing agility. At least for short distances, they can sprint to those that resist and rip them apart. Each carried a weird weapon which was big and heavy, circular, 3 marks long and about 1 mark wide. These weapons are metal, thick, and have several circular metal buttons. These weapons have the ability to blast us out of the way with ease. These weaponse produce a huge shock wave but resistant like a shield. Each shot producing a local blast, stopping time as bullets drop like the rain from the air.

As they passed, one of the soliders takes my mind. The solider says “Listen to me William. Do not resist.”

I can sense this soldier is not like the rest. I am seeing current events but it’s like a mingled movie of my thoughts. It’s taking my memories current and past to tell me it’s story. For some time, the movie plays in my head,  but I sense no real time has past. I can see it brilliantly more real than life.

I am shown a woman with child which was not Kutuk. It seems like a normal child birth, but the image darkens. A child with a strange black umbilical cord, longer than normal 3 marks long. Dull black skin covered with a raised hexagon pattern. A non-human head, oblong, and a face I cannot see. I want to see the face, but it is not shown.

I am told the brains from this non-Kutuk baby placed into a projectile will kill them. Of course, information useless to me as our small arms are unworthy. There suits of armor; impenetrable.

I am showed how to use their weapon. It fires, but I see nothing. I can see that firing this weapon at one of the metal machines would cut clean a circular chunk, barren soil in tow. I was told it was destroyed, but I see no explosion. I see only partial distruction. How can this be enough to lay waste to this dreadnaught.

It told me it is a vibratory weapon. I am told the frequency of matter determines it existence. “It tells me, you suffer from tunnel vision from the outsider’s screen. You spend your life trying to escape and travel the stars. However, the next existence is a thousand fold occupying your same space. Dark matter is but a raveling of that which is not on your frequency. To view, is a choice, and with your action your plane has been choosen. Changing the vibratory frequency of matter gives you power to travel time. While you may be primitive, technology beyond belief is occupying your space, only a frequency away.”

Like being sucked backward through a tunnel I am released from this memory. While I look back, the machines are intact and the soliders are marching on. My lessons from this creature are but an illusion. I sense no time has past.

The soliders are marching out of sight down the logging road into the woods. While I look at my muddy boots, I wonder, “What’s the Frequency Kenneth?”

 

The story behind “What’s the frequency, Kenneth?” is actually quite fascinating. You see, William Tager was the local psycho in New York. He thought CBSNews was beaming signals into his head. Naturally, when he saw Dan Rathers walking down the street, he ran up and beat the crap out of him, repeatedly requesting the frequency of the signals so he can stop them, while addressing Rathers as “Kenneth” for no apparent reason to this date.
Source: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=What%27s%20the%20frequency%2C%20Kenneth%3F