Marie Among the Moles

Barry rolled over in bed, face illuminated by a light-up sports watch. One of his prize posessions, he had discovered it in a pile of dead leaves in the corner of his yard, braving spiders and the young Samsons, who stood in the yard and watched, increduously, as their treasure was taken away at the very same moment that it was revealed to them, to claim it and restore it to its former glory. Living conditions in their country weren't amenable to modern electronics. "Nor to life itself!" Barry thought--something Marie would have said if she were there to hear him. The death of her parents had made her both bitter and idealistic, longing to destroy everything and create a world where things like that didn't happen.

Barry liked to think he was simply realistic, a good foil for Marie. She was there, he realized, the slow, steady knocking on his window coming into focus. He looked up and greeted her incoherently, then wondered why he was talking to her when there was the window glass between them, then why she had showed up at all after their fight earlier. Better see what she wants anyway, thought Barry, crossing the room and unlatching the window. It swung out on its hinge and Marie scrambled inside, looking disheveled and exhausted but with eyes wild. "Barry," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders to brace herself as she struggled to catch her breath. "They're blind...Barry, they're blind!" He stared at her increduously. "Blind? What are you talking about? Who's blind?" Frustrated, Marie pulled at her hair, arms stretched over her head. "Who do you..WHAT do you think! The moles! The monsters that killed my parents! Do you know what this means?" She shook him vigorously as if to make sure her words filtered into every part of his brain. "They..they had to have been under someone else's control, right?" Barry began, slowly. "They..they couldn't have made it up here on their own, let alone singled your parents and the others out."

Marie swallowed, face pale. She had not counted on her own people being behind the attack. They had been wearing red, the panel head had explained. It was unfortunate that the festival planners had assigned the colors in that way--red, gray and brown, to represent the three distinct layers of their country and society. It was even more unfortunate that they had lured the monsters into town with their singing, clapping and dancing, and more unfortunate still that the red clothing that many of the attendees had been wearing had caused a killing rage to well up within the beasts, causing them to bring about so many deaths. And they were awful deaths, the survivor who brought Marie what was left of her mother's dress had said. Both were too grief-stricken to press for or provide details, a fuller explanation--anyway, the evidence spoke for itself.

Watching her carefully for a moment, Barry asked "Who do you think was behind it?" Remembering her impassioned speech before the panel, he suddenly realized where she was likely to place the blame, and he scowled darkly, staring resolutely at the floor.

Marie rubbed her temples, pulling herself out of the past, memories from a long time ago but not much less painful for the time that had passed. Once again aware of his presence, she turned towards Barry and said, "I have to go," the urgency in her voice disturbing him even more than his realization had. She looked at him curiously and then was gone, climbing out of the open window and racing off into the night. "Whom should I kill," Marie wondered. "The moles or the panelists?"