Short Story : 880 KILL-O-HERTZ

With dirty leaden boots we walked through the deliberate puddles with my unit 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. As if there was a strobe on a super low frequency, we experienced abrupt transitions from complete 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.
With silence came their massive machines in the expanse ahead. Appearing out of nowhere. Vaporizing trees and leaving 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. A black noxious mist escaping from the machines. From the distance I can see soldiers emerge.
These guys are huge. Metal soldiers marching without regard for our presence. I can feel there is something living in those metal suits. They were massive, 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. Yet they have no regard for our being.
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 us. Only those that resist are slaughtered and ripped apart without attempt. I feel like mere insects, not their targets, but simply in their way.
These creatures are far advanced from us. They marched into the forest where we are. We are like small insects to them. Attempts to fire weapons at them fail. They are quick to destroy those that attack them, not even leaving screams of pain. We see rifle fire, metal grinding, rockets, explosions but I can feel them. All they see is silent picking up our soliders and crushing out their life essense. Simply as crushing a daisy flower in a tornado of war. Without obligation, but as a master teaching a student of action and consequence. Uninterested in those who supress their hostility, 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 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 weapons produce a huge shock wave but resistant like a shield. Each shot producing a local blast, stopping time as bullets drop like rain from the air.
As they pass, 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 movie of my minged 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 at all. I can see the movie 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 can’t tell if I can see the face, or there is no face. It’s so black, I cannot see the face.
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 shown how to use this 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 am told the machine is destroyed, but I see no explosion. I see only partial distruction, a missing piece, edged by molten metal. How can this be enough to lay waste to this dreadnaught.
It tells me its 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 gives you power to travel matter. 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.


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