The Mass

i hear a snap. and somewhere another body goes limp. i hear it all the time these days. It’s the times i think. or maybe my youth. i can’t tell. i hold tight as four chins poke into the small of my back. three fists in my face. a shoulder in my stomach. it eases and i grab a tablespoon of air. the breathing is hard now and I can’t scream anymore. i look at the man between the heads. he cannot speak. the Wires will not let him. he smiles and pulls at his arms but there is no where to put them. he cries. and then he laughs. and then he is awe-stricken. it is what the Wires demand. i shift as a body beneath me twists. a head and an arm and a belly and another arm and a shoulder roll over and twist my body like a mop. my spine will break soon. but it doesn’t matter. i have nothing to do now but lay here and sink. and watch the sky shrink a little more as the bodies pile up. but the man between the heads stays with me. his scarred and bleeding face drifts into and out of scattered shafts of light. his face moves as if to speak. but the Wires will not let him. and now a frown and sulkiness because the Wires want it that way. but the Wires can’t get to his eyes. his mind and his face yes. but not his eyes. how he resists. the images forced on him are strong. at least it’s what the dying ones say when i am lucky enough to hear them. yet he is there. sinking. and waiting. for the platform he knows will come. he can not help it. i am all he sees now. another snap and a shadow. the platform is near. and, too, the mechanics riding it. to pull the limp body from the crowd. there is momentary glee in his eyes. his steady eyes. hungry and waiting. but it passes as the shadow moves away. “you cannot escape for long.” that’s what his eyes tell me. burrowing in through my naked face. i can nearly hear him. the pressure eases and i take in a gulp of air and smell his rotting breath. another snap. and a scream this time. i treasure the dying screams. the only Truth i know anymore. i forgot all the rest. the ones i was told. the ones who told me even. but not the man between the heads. what would he say. or would he just die. too many scars. and his skin bleeding in too many places. from fighting the Wires all his life. and the rapid twitching in his face. the Wires forcing the muscles. he cries. he laughs. he speaks too rapidly for me to hear. not me. not now. not without the Wires. i wonder if he envies me. my avoidance. “they never found me!” i scream in a whisper to him -- to explain my uncovered face. i wait for a reply. but the Wires are too strong. and his resistance too weak for the pain. he only smiles and then cries and then laughs. it is what they do, the Wires. with everything in the face but the eyes. and the fantasies take care of the eyes for most. but the mechanics eventually find me. the platform floating in air and the two men leaning out. searching. “here,” i whisper. as best i can between the short choppy breaths. one points. “over there,” he says to the other. they hover above me and place the Helmet on my head. they leave. “its my time, now,” i whisper to the air. to the man between the heads. as the Wires work into my skin. the fantasies begin to creep into my brain. i look one last time at the man between the heads. his eyes smile in triumph, oblivious to my newly found conformity. his shoulder assumes an odd shape as it dislocates. finally his arm is free. he raises it up over his head. his eyes gleam in victory. he curls his arm around his scalp and wedges his elbow into the mass of people above him. he grasps the side of his jaw and flicks his mighty torso. i hear the snap of his broken neck. and see the slow release of breath as his head flops over.