Venom (standard:other, 1052 words)
Author: Port Lataine	Added: Jan 22 2002	Views/Reads: 3052/2021	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Chapter 29 of The World of Harold and His Lovely Wife. Good as a short story, too. Why is peace a bad thing? Let's try to find out...

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


"So why are you here? in my bedroom? in the middle of the night?" 

"I'm killing you." 

Mr. Goode was absolutely shocked, stunned.  He squeaked, "Killing me?" 

"Yes.  Killing you.  Nothing more.  Nothing less." 

"Am I dead?  I mean, am I dead right now?  Or am I still dreaming?" 

"Well, you might be dreaming.  I suppose that if I was dreaming, this
could be a dream, but I don't think that I'm dreaming.  I think I'm 
awake.  I think."  He paused.  "Oh, and you aren't dead.  Not yet.  You 
are dying.  I mean, from the time we are born, we all begin to die.  
But you, Mr. Goode, you are closer to death then anyone I know right 
now.  But don't worry, you won't be dying for much longer.  Once you 
die, your dying will cease." 

Despite the positive spin on death, Mr. Goode was still very frightened.
 He couldn't move.  He was frozen in his fetal position on his soft, 
comfortable bed.  He wanted to wake up, but that probably wasn't going 
to happen, according to Mr. Asmai. 

"So how am I dying?" 

"This."  Mr. Asmai showed Mr. Goode a hypodermic needle.  "I injected
you with some venom from some type of tropical snake.  I don't exactly 
recall the name.  But it will kill you.  Soon enough." 

"But why do you want to kill me." 

"I was hired, well, coerced to kill you.  You see, you don't have the
correct intentions.  You have good intentions:  peace and happiness.  
But you want a Utopia, which, in reality, is a ridiculous concept and 
totally illogical to boot.  That's why you must die." 

"But I just want people to be happy..." 

"I know.  I know.  And that's good, but you have had too much influence
on the world recently.  We can't have people wanting a Utopia.  No 
one's happy in a Utopia, all that happiness is just superficial, just 
fake.  Not everyone is meant to go to Heaven.  Or to Hell, I suppose." 

"But don't you think that peace is the answer?" 

"Not always.  Sometimes it's the answer, but not all the time.  The
whole thing is rather complicated." 

Mr. Goode was becoming sleepy, the energy draining from his limbs, from
his heart, from his soul.  His eyelids became heavier every minute, 
every second.  Mr. Goode thought he was probably dying.  Probably, or 
getting very, very sleepy. 

"I would like to know something, though, before I, you know, die."  Mr.
Goode was surprised with his own serenity, the calmness of his mind.  
He was at peace.  How ironic.  He had accepted rather quickly his fate 
of dying.  He never thought he would live forever, or die young.  But 
he wasn't young.  He would be missed.  Well, not that much. 

"Okay.  I guess I owe you an answer.  Besides, you're a dying man." 

"All that I want to know is:  are you a member of the--" 

"Wow!  Look at the time!  I must be going." 

And Mr. Goode was left all alone, prepared to die, awaiting his death. 
It would only be a matter of time.  Nothing more.  Nothing less...


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