LIFEFORM NO.2

The young mother had given up the little blob after it slipped out of her snatch and tried to slither away. It bunched up in a corner and men in white suits were brought in to rid her of it. The mother had told them that she hadn’t been knocked up for at least eleven months and never once felt a single kick from it until it just “came out”. How it had gone unnoticed she had not a clue. It was a nasty little wad and she madly expressed her repulsion towards it in long vivid tirades. She told the local press had she known about it earlier she would never have allowed it to
come out.

The men in white suits kept it in a canister and took it to a small research facility. After it was decided the creature was of no scientific value, they sold it to a local museum in the city who saw in it an innate value as a piece of contemporary art. They plopped in a glass case reaching 6 feet
and 5 inches high and exactly 8 feet wide, labeling the piece Lifeform No. 2.

“This is a homo sapien. This is a homo sapien male. Can you identify what is in this image here?” asked a voice from the computer whose functions and memory were stored in fragments of crystal connected and passing in tiny currents through copper wire. The computer took the form of a giant chandelier that hung high above the glass enclosure. The little mass would burble an incoherent sentence in attempt to answer but could only respond in gargled puffs of excretion. Around it was presented an array of various high intensity stimuli meant to invoke reaction. Classical and Celtic, operas in many tongues, pings and pitches, faces and frequencies, all of them prodding and probing for any response. Seeing how loud they could make it there in its tiny little chamber before the little thing reacted or the glass broke from the intense vibrations. They flicked pictures of faces and families that had passed by that day and the last. External items and objects of interests were brought to the attention of it with a ding for every correct guess. The chandelier took pictures of the visible world around it, storing information it had gathered throughout the day in each little fractal. In each fractal a face, reflected from the light sneaking through the stained-glass windows cut within the large dome from which was provided the only source of natural light to the poor little thing.

“Can you tell us what this is?”

“Can you name this song?”

“What’s this word mean?”

The raggedy newsvendor hobbles around the plaza hollering, ‘HARK! HARK! Child is born. Come. See it in all its glory!’ The paper he held and handed out to the various passersby had on the cover the bold striking headline, Alien Sight: Natural Born Abomination Conceived from Virgin Womb.

Thousands lined up to see the oddity which had brought into existence. The line of people twisted around blocks of urban city street. Through dingy districts they pass as they get closer to the new exhibit. Signs directed them away from the men hiding in the gutters and presiding in
the allies. Most paid no mind to the world around them, eagerly waiting, step by step, to get to the entrance of the museum.

A short, suited man greets the visitors under a large banner advertising the new exhibit. He ushers them through large baroque doors and other suited curators direct the line into a large white room where they form a crowd surrounded by screens and speakers. In the center they’re met with the glass cage which sits below the glowing chandelier illuminating the exhibit and refracting various colors around the room.

As the crowd pushes up to get closer within view of the enclosure, they come to find an old withering sack of flesh on life support. It looks like a large heap of melted molasses with an array of colored wires sticking into it like a blubbered whale harpooned. It’s heart still pulsing at a steady 70 beats per minute. It’s mass heaves around like the dead whale whose body moves from the liquified innards keeping and swelling gasses. Ventilation shafts keep a steady flow of fresh air circulating at all times due to the deathly methane like smell emanating from the creature’s body. The crowd lets out obnoxious audible gasps as one by one they push up through the gathering horde into view of the mound of flesh growing in its cage. They see purple tendril like veins sprouting from its pinkened form. The veins crawl around the enclosure like brainless worms. The blob rests in the far corner under one of the speakers. A loud high pitch frequency blasts and the thing flails its veins like wild snakes about the cage. Its mass shrinks and expands. A low gurgling moan emanates from its underside.

“It’s appalling really, cried a woman from the back as she waged her finger in the direction of her virulence. “No living thing ought to live in such a sorry state.”

She pushes past the gathering mob and runs out into the hall wailing. Her hands raised to cover her face and to hide her tears, masking her disgust.

“Nothing to worry about Miss.” A stout nosed man smoothly assures her as he wraps his arms around the woman, rubbing her shoulders and pushing her toward the exit.

They increase the frequency. The little thing begins to breath rapidly. Its body begins to pulse at rapid intervals. One man asks the curators if it is supposed to behave like that. The curators take vital readings. They assure the people that everything is normal. It behaves like this from time to time due to artificial stimuli. This is the first time it has been in the presence of a real crowd but this behaviour completely expected.

A smaller man comes in with a long lens camera and begins to snap photos of the child from the back. He would later return home to develop the photos only to note that, “It looks even worse in person.” A man heaves and his wife holds him up. He complains to management about how they could let such an abomination live in such conditions. His wife asks if it should even be considered living at all.

Art critic, Filip de Perez was appalled by the exhibit and expressed his distaste on his blog. He wrote that such a piece of living art had little to no value as its creation was without purpose. “Without purpose or reason behind its creation,” he wrote, “it does not add anything to the modern and contemporary art world. It should be noted that Lifeform No. 2 has little redeeming factors as a natural wonder. Neither talent nor thought went into its creation and its sole existence is devoid of any meaning. The piece does not even seek to critique societal values or raise valuable questions in regards to life or living. Lifeform No. 2 leaves the viewer with disgust. Not because it is trying to challenge the viewers perception on life, but because it is like putting one’s tumor on display and calling it art.”

The curators vigorously tried to explain to them that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. The superficial “sorry for the inconvenience” and “it won’t happen again,” were all that were given to many empty minds who left disappointed. They left without dropping a single penny in the donation pot.

The museum continued to open new exhibits and cut costs by scrapping old ones. The least popular exhibits moved to storage or were sold off to independent collectors for high bids. Yet it seemed no one wanted, or could have, the little blithering blob labeled Lifeform No. 2. Even when marketed as other worldly oddity and a new natural wonder no bids were placed. Most simply passed with a squint and humph, touting away from something seen as so repugnant. Over time the museum began to deteriorate without funding. The curators moved the valuable artifacts and artworks to other venues. Subtle dusty grey outlines of a frames were left on the bare white walls. The room which contained the child dropped all maintenance, and on the 21st August they shut down the entirety of the museum. The halls incandescent lights slowly flickered slowly faded. All the surrounding screens went black as each pixel went out. In its cage the child was now devoid of any and all stimuli. The only thing still going was the voice over the intercom which continued to ask questions.

“It is currently ten fifteen. What do you do now?”

Days pass, the chandelier chain thins under the weight of its stored information. The crystalline mind shatters at midnight, falling down through the glass cage, breaking into a showering rain of glass and metal. Each drop of crystal a face and a memory. A sound and a cry. A hound of
laughter or a jeering whisper. It mixes in on the ground where the moonlight pours in and its light makes the shards glow like a radiant chemical reaction. Its light splits into a maze-like prism of color. A radiant rainbow of greens, blues, and reds light the floor.

The child crawls out of its glass enclosure, screaming out for just one familiar face to leech onto. As it slides out the broken glass tears away chunks of flesh and lacerate swaths of skin. The cancer heaves its body along the floor scraping against the shards of the broken chandelier. It leaves cuts and zaps its carcass. The little thing crawls around the empty halls as the voice on the loud speaker blares, “Warning. Object has breached holding.”

It cries and wails. It’s red fleshy mold oozes blood and salt water. It looks for, but cannot find a single sign of life. Its body meshes up against walls and doors seeing if anything will give way to something new. Something tangibly familiar. Paintings and sculptures of olden eras become covered in blood and tumorous chunks. Its tendrils grow erratic and sink deep within any crack in the dry wall. It crawls forward in the darkness. Beams of light scatter in from the stained-glass windows guiding it in the dark. Through the halls it leaves a thick viscous red trail as it wanders the empty halls gurgling, “Mamma. Mamma.”

The voice asks, “What is this? What color is that there?”

by Ellis Mckinley