A Play for Voices

New York Public Library, Courtesy of Unsplash
 

Furious Fiction, October 2020

Criteria: story must involve someone/something being caught; story must include the words OBJECT, WOUND, BAND, ELABORATE; final two words must be THE MOON. 500-word limit

He caught the final glimmer of the star he’d just destroyed. He looked back at his work. A beautiful sight, starless and bible-black. He’d always liked that phrase; he couldn’t place it, he just liked it. The Vovons should adopt it as their slogan. It fitted perfectly with his brief: destroy every galaxy except theirs. Nothing too elaborate in that plan. He was okay with that.

He heard about the Vovons on the astral grapevine. They didn’t possess much in the way of a sense of humour, but they were even-tempered. They hated everyone. Him, too, he supposed, if he bothered to think about it for long enough, which he didn’t. They paid well and, man, did they have some hi-tech shit! For them, intellect was no object. They had the brainpower to irrigate parched worlds, cure diseases, or turn deadly zerkon radiation into a source of infinite, non-polluting energy, but, nah, they just preferred to kill everyone. Him, too, he supposed, if he bothered to think about it for long enough, which he did if he were honest. That’s why it was important to stay useful to them. Thank Christ the universe was vast. He could do this job forever, and although he could never escape them, not truly, he could feel like he was far enough away from them to be his own man, even if he was just one of a band of indentured galactic assassins. 

He snapped out of his thoughts. This won’t buy the baby a bonnet. What’s next? Earth. He observed the marbled sphere. Pretty little thing. He readied his weaponry, but Earth’s beguiling appearance stayed his trigger finger. He’d disappeared plenty of planets without pausing for breath. What was it about this one? Maybe if he just had a quick look around? He knew this was strictly forbidden; the Vovons had very high quotas and very tight timeframes. One transgression could literally be fatal. However, he was well ahead of schedule for the Milky Way, so…

He was in a room. A man was writing. He hovered over the man’s shoulder: “It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black…” He studied the title: Under Milk Wood. A Play for Voices. He returned to space but his detached resolve failed him. He wanted to read the rest of this Play for Voices. Perhaps he could move on to—he checked—Venus and Mercury and then come back? It might be finished by then and he could upload it from the man’s brain. Then he could destroy Earth.

He felt the powerful energy field of a Vovon behind him. “You were explicitly told not to form attachments of any kind to any planet or interstellar body. The penalty is immediate termination.”

A pulse entered his body. The wound opened like a flower, fanning his entrails into starless, bible-black space. He barely had time to register the moon.