By m maldonado

"Have you seen me?"

Mike furrowed his spotted brow and turned to the kid.

"Excuse me?"

The kid, maybe ten or eleven, stared up at Mike with blue eyes, barely visible behind the thick brown bangs. His skin was pale, nearly white, offset by a strange red blemish on his temple.

Mike squinted; it looked kinda like an eye.

"Have you seen me?" the kid repeated.

"Whaddaya mean?"

The kid paused, like the words didn’t register. "Are you sure?"

"I haven’t even answered your question, kid." Mike slid his cap back over his thinning white hair and drank the last of his coffee. A quick glance made him wince; he should’ve left fifteen minutes ago.

"Look," he began, trying not to sound like he was irritated. "I don’t have time to play games. I gotta get my truck over to the next state in two hours."

The kid stared at him, unblinking. It made Mike nervous.

"Sorry," he said, shrugging. "See ya."

And Mike was gone. The kid kept staring at the spot where he had been, then turned to follow him.

"Shit," Mike muttered, spying the kid in a nearby car’s windshield. He started to walk a little faster; he didn’t want to hurt the kid’s feelings, but he was no responsibility of Mike’s. He was too old to handle kids.

Mike slid into the cab of his eighteen-wheeler, sighing as the heated seats soothed him; it didn’t get much higher than twenty degrees in this part of Colorado, especially at night. His arm reluctantly moved from the warmth to start the truck, then quickly retreated back to the seat. He took the truck out onto the road with ease, whistling a nonsense tune.

Mike went about ten miles before noticing the kid.

"The hell—!" he yelled, jerking reflexively away from the boy, who sat serenely in the seat beside him. The truck swerved, barely missed a minivan full of college students, and started off into the brush on the side of the road.

Mike held his breath until he got them stopped and clear of the road, then let it out in a great gasp of relief. The kid watched calmly while the old trucker recovered.

When he had the breath: "What the hell do you think yer doin', kid? And how did you get back in here? I didn't hear nuthin'."

"You have not seen me," the kid said, his voice so steady it made the man's skin crawl. "But you will."

Mike was fed up with this. "I don't know what the hell yer talkin' about, boy, but—"

"You will take me, and you will see me." The kid smiled, bright and wide. "You will see me, and understand."

Mike froze. On the one hand, he wanted this kid to go far, far, away, and never come back; on the other, he very much wanted his company, and would oblige in taking him where he wanted to go. What to do…

"Please?" the boy said, without emotion.

"I guess I'll take ya," Mike said, rubbing the back of his head. "What's the worry?" He smiled lopsidedly, his eyes glazed over.

The boy nodded, and turned to stare out the window while Mike got the truck started.

When they were back on the road, Mike frowned. Why was he doing this? He didn't like hitchhikers or drifters or whatever as a general rule, why was he making an exception with this kid?

"I'm gonna stop at this station here." He pointed at the lights on the horizon ahead. "And I'm gonna drop you off there, 'kay? You can get someone else to deal with your shit."

The boy scowled, slightly, and for a second Mike thought he saw green light spark in his eyes. "That is not necessary. Keep driving, and you will see me."

Mike turned the right blinker on. "Look, kid—"

"Keep going."

The blinker went off, and they drove on past.

"Maybe we'll try at the next stop," Mike mumbled, not meaning it. "Wanna listen to some music? I got Beatles and Lennon and some Elvis, how 'bout it?"

"No."

"Fine, you're the boss." He kept driving. "Hey, wait…" He glanced at the boy, then shook his head. "Why did I say that?"

"Who knows?" the boy whispered, and suddenly Mike was aware of the

that seemed to hang in the air when the boy talked. It floated in his ear and passed through his mind, and suddenly he felt warm and content. Everything was right, everything was bread and honey. Wheeee…

"What's yer name, anyways?"

"Orpheus."

"Nice. French?"

"Greek."

"Nice," Mike said again, grinning. "Mine's Mike. Howyado, young man?" The boy—Orpheus—said nothing.

"I see, I see," he continued. "You don't like talking, do you?"

A shake of the head this time, and a sad look.

"How come? Antisocial?"

"I just don't—"

"—like to."

"Wha?" Mike slurred; he felt and looked like he was drunk. A happy drunk, but still drunk. Orpheus shook him a little.

"I'm…alright," he said, smiling and saluting the boy. "But you look like shit. Where'm I takin' you again?"

"To me."

"Oh. Right."

Pause.

"Where's that?"

No answer.

"Hey, kid? Kid? Orpheus?" Mike took a chance and glanced at the seat beside him. "Orphe—the hell you doin'?"

Orpheus was glowing—not the usual, sparkling-lights-around-the-body kind of glow, but a sparking, pulsing green glow that ebbed steadily, like a heartbeat. His eyes were closed, and he sat cross-legged on the seat.

Mike wasn't happy anymore. "Kid, what—what are you?" He looked his passenger up and down, then remembered he was driving and steadied the truck. "Dammit, boy, I don't know what you are, but you have to get out!"

"You must take me. Then you may go, and be content."
³ ting³

"Sure." Mike was grinning again, though his eyes were less vapid than before. Emerald sparks flew past his face, and he didn't even blink. "Fourth of July already? No one told me…"

"Go…" Orpheus whispered, sparks pouring in great fountains from his body, spilling against the walls and ceiling of the cab. They wiggled against the surface and passed through it, leaving glowing green patches that pulsed in sync with the boy's aura. "Go…"

Anyone watching from the road would have seen this:

A speeding semi-truck rocketing down the road, green lines of electricity flowing down the sides and top of the cab; they jump to the trailer, and then the wheels, which become consumed by viridian light. Sparks fly off it like roman candles, and pops and snaps fill the air.

Suddenly it all flares: there is a downpour of sparks, a massive boom, and the truck is gone.

The smell of smoke rides the wind.

Mike blinked.

He blinked again.

And again.

And the alien road before him still did not disappear, like it was supposed to.

"Where am I?" he whispered, still driving, though on a subconscious and instinctive level. "Where the hell am I?"

The road before him was not the faded gray he was used to; it was crimson-red, the lines black. The land on either side of said road was populated by freakish, yellow bushes and trees, scraggly and dying.

The sky was black, the sun blood-red. Day was night, night was day.

Mike was still waiting to wake up, aching, from his nap in his truck because this all had to be a dream when they came.

His first clue was the sound of their howls, like a thousand people screaming as they waver on the edge of death and yet are not allowed to pass on.

His second clue was the thudding of their feet, like Hitler's army in its entirety, marching on stone as loud as possible.

The third clue came shortly before they came: red sparks popping in the air, leaving tiny splatters that looked like blood.

And then they were on the trailer.

Mike caught a glimpse of one in his mirror. It was hanging onto the side of the trailer with unseen claws, its smoky, shapeless body whipping to and fro in the wind.

Its face…its face was human only in that the ears and nose were there, and the skin, pale-pink. Everything else was, to Mike, animal-like. The mouth was huge, distended, and filled to the brim with sharp, triangular teeth, like a shark's. The eyes were black holes, big and round and bottomless. The head was hairless, populated only by sharp, swept-back spikes as thick around as Mike's thumb.

Mike saw this, and pissed himself. He looked to the boy for help, but Orpheus was out cold, his head propped up against the window.

"Orpheus!" he screamed. Nothing. He heard one of them cackle, followed by the sound of shredding metal. "Orpheus!"

In the mirror, one of them was making its way up to the cab.

He floored it, making the engine growl and shoot them forward.

The thing screeched as its grip on the truck loosened. It hung there, inches from the truck, for a second, and collided with a trio of them that had been trying to open the back of the trailer.

"Four points," Mike muttered. He put the truck on cruise control and used one hand to shake Orpheus.

"Wake up, kid, wake up!" he groaned. "Get up! Damn you, get UP! PLEASE!"

His eyes opened, and Mike sighed in relief. "Orpheus, where the hell are we?"

"Hm?" The boy yawned, stretching, and looked around him. "Huh?"

"Look in the mirror over there."

The boy did, and his eyes widened. "We must get off this road."

"I know that, but how?" One of them was trying to get up to the cab again.

Orpheus scanned the horizon for a second, then yawned again. "Take a right."

Mike stared at him. "That's it?"

"Yes."

Mike did it.

Green light flashed, and the truck left that place.

They were left behind.

Mike tried not to blink again, but he did.

And then he stared, because where he was now was too good to blink at.

It looked like a normal grassy field, but everything, everything, was made entirely of light. The grass was a thousand shades of green light, the huge oak nearby was brown light with more green. The sky itself was blue light. The sun was, of course, light, but white instead of yellow. The wind was invisible light.

Orpheus stood before him, and now Mike saw him, in this world of pure light, saw him and smiled, for this boy, this kid, was innocent.

This kid is Innocence, personified.

"Yes," he said, and Mike realized that thoughts were not private property here. "I am what's left of Innocence, of everything good and hopeful and pleasant and emphatic and uplifting."

"Why…?"

Orpheus knew his thoughts. "I asked you to take me here, my home, because I have become weak." Mike felt tears well up in his eyes. "This place of light, as you call it, represents what's left of innocence on Earth. And my borders shrink every day, until innocence becomes a thing of the past and this whole place dies. As will I."

Mike couldn't stop the tears from sliding down his face. "Why? Why do you have to die?"

"Do you remember them?"

Mike nodded, still crying.

"That is what humans really are, when you get right down to it. Greedy, violent, hungry and malicious. Self-absorbed and lustful." He shook his head. "I don't know where they went wrong, but it's nothing new. I have been dying for centuries."

"Why are you telling me this?" Mike whispered, though he felt he could take no more.

"Because you stayed with me, took me to my home." He paused. "And when I talked, you heard the Song. No one has heard the Song before."

Mike's brow furrowed. "The—"

"—Song?" he finished. "That sound I hear whenever you speak?"

"Yes. The Song is the something that humans have forgotten how to recognize, something so key to their lives that they go on without even knowing it, a massive gap in their souls." He sighed. "It is a sense of being happy, no matter what your situation. You heard it, and were able to bypass it sometimes. Other people just respond enough to think differently on a minor scale.

"You, Mike, may be able to learn the Song, and I hope you can." He smiled, and Mike grinned right back, so pure was his happiness. "Through you, maybe some of humanity will turn back to contentment. Are you willing?"

Mike nodded, and listened.

As he drove through the land of the black sky and red sun, Mike was grinning and tapping his feet to some silent melody, feeling happier than he'd ever felt in his life.

And when they came, he rolled down his window, stuck his head out, and let out a single, rising, thundering note from his lips.

They froze in their tracks, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed as this old man sang the Song for them, sang that wonderful, beautiful note of clear and true happiness.

And in their world of darkness and sorrow, one of the runty, yellow trees on the roadside turned green, and a robin perched on its branches.

Mike drove on, back into his world, back onto the road.

Ol' Smilin' Mike, as he was thereafter known, became a hit on the CB, dishing out the happiness of the song to all who would listen, all who would care. He taught it to priests in churches, to rabbis in synagogues, and, once, to a whole mosque of people for three hours straight. He gave it to his wife and to his kids, who passed it on from generation to generation. He loved everyone, hated no one, and smiled all the time, even in his sleep.

And when he finally did die, at the ripe old age of one-hunnert-n-twenty-three, he did so with a laugh and a grin and a quick coronary.

And no one shed a tear at his funeral, 'cause they knew that Ol' Smilin' Mike was laughin' it up with Christ himself, up there on high, and no one and nuthin' was gonna take him down.

No one, and nuthin'.