By David C. Daoust
Charles the First was out of breath. The Brain Stealer was nowhere in sight. He had no idea where the little bugger had gotten off to. He’d raced about, dodging through rubble and peering through crevices. The bulbous device and the strange little ‘fiery guy’ did not leave a trace. He didn’t know what that guy was really; he seriously doubted it had anything to do with keeping the unions down. He was used to his grandfather’s nonsensical quips though.
He had to face it. They got away.
Charles had failed again.
Felt like every time he tried to take action, things just fell flat.
The frustration was there, again and again, in his balled fists. He did not understand what got into him. Ever since he started listening to Denali—maybe he was just tired of knowing. Of knowing what needed to be done, yet feeling completely unable to affect it.
Before it was different, there was this buildup of worry; the loss of his mother, the shadow that fell over his brother, his family.
When the Reds fled the moon he witnessed ‘justice’. It changed the worry to triumph, even if it was for only a few minutes. He carried it with him. He knew what it looked like, he knew how it felt, but it was just a memory now, an absence.
More and more it felt as though he was denied; denied feeling what he wanted to feel.
Now, Charles kept building things up in his mind. Some stupid little kid made an ignorant comment, a comment the kid clearly didn’t understand, later- Charles found himself charging Sadie’s boyfriend, Jessop– knocked him for a loop. The man walked away like he was dirt. Harper witnessed the whole thing; he hadn’t been able to look at her since.
He tried to stop the Sheriff from taking Ratchet- found himself trapped behind a force field. All of Grady, both the cute Blue Sisters, and Hugo Lions himself, watched him struggle helplessly as he was hauled away, sat like a fool ‘til his Dad showed up… just to have Ratchet insist on playing along. Charles didn’t argue, he didn’t like it, but he wanted Ratchet to get what he wanted. And Ratchet wanted this– Charles could tell.
The Judge, the Brain Stealer. What right did they have to take his brother’s mind? To take his secrets? Access to his whole life’s worth of thoughts and memories? -All to create some creepy puppet to speak for him; to say what he wouldn’t, what he clearly refused.
Grandpa Haul knew what to do– Charles went along.
One bop in the head and a kick in the face later, and he was by himself in the ruins empty handed and feeling, again, like dirt. His fists were balled, nothing to hit…
The anger passed. Suddenly he realized he didn’t know where his Grandpa was. There was a solid chance, Grandpa Haul didn’t know either…
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