The Fading Witness

The dawn smiled on the horizon. Our footsteps crunched the grass, breaking the silence. He lagged behind me, nagging. I’d told him that I needed to fix the engine before our shift begins. That was a lie.

We passed through the main hall and by the array of resting green machines as we walked towards the main valve room where his mayhem awaited us. The nerve center of our world of unending entwined vines of pipes, housing one of the most toxic components known to man. Only one burst, one loose screw, one nasty thought was enough to sink everyone’s dreams into an oblivion.

“I know what you’re planning,” I said as I pointed to the not-so-hidden black box. “What I don’t understand is why?”

He looked through me. “Some people kill in sequence. I think one little act of bravery is more honest.”

The room was spinning. So was the valve. “Honest!?” I yelled.

“Depending on your conscience, or lack of it; you can be truthful when you are doing evil. We all have a purpose buried in us deep. You love good, so you do good. I carry a darkness. I want it free. This is my metamorphosis.”

I begged him to stop it, pleaded him. He didn’t care. I threatened him.

“You can’t prove anything,” he said.

“I’ve got enough evidence!”

“No, You don’t understand. You can’t prove anything because I have already done it,” he paused. “You are already dead.”

He looked old, almost ancient. Walls turned dirty. Mold crawled over the floors. Cobwebs covered all the equipment.

“It’s been fifty years,” he said. “You used to haunt me a lot in the beginning, as you were the only witness of my conscience. Now? hardly. Even you are fading away. Everything fades away in the end.”