Rewired

Write a story from the POV of a witch, corpse, or supernatural creature.

A deep, cold darkness hugged my body. My bones stiff and sore. The smell of fresh soil, and soaked oak filled my nostrils. I’ve been planted again. It was not the first time I’d been a corpse. For as long as I could remember, I found myself in this endless cycle — death, life, death, life. I am fairly certain it had to do with a certain woman who was accused of witchcraft that I was interested in courting during the thirteenth century — I was on my way to see her when I was robbed, killed, and burned by brigands.

I only slept when I was dead. And I slept too long. There were times when I would resurrect, run out of oxygen, and sleep again.

My plan was to rest for a couple weeks, and then dig myself out, fingers and hands numb from the work. What is it they say about best laid plans? When my eyes finally fluttered open, my hair was long… really long. The nails of my fingers curling and crooked, the nails of my toes cutting into the hard leather of my boot. I had to rip the fingernails off with my teeth to get to work. As per my Last Will and Testament, I requested that a large chisel and hammer be buried with me, I worked as a sculptor most of my lives, so no one bat an eye. The first time I was resurrected was ugly, really ugly. I was just a pile of charred bones in France. Through some strange magic, the sinew and muscles of body extended from each bone, each shard, each molecule of ash, and those tendrils pulled me back together. A terrible itch, and rightful confusion. There was pain in death, but none in resurrection.

I didn’t question this fate anymore. I died most recently in 2026.

I took the chisel and stabbed it in the edge of the cheap coffin. I wonder why I died this time. Smacking the hammer hard into the chisel’s handle I created a tiny crease, a crack in the wood. It was enough to get me started, and I began the long, arduous, and uncomfortable process of excavating myself. Filling some of the coffin with dirt, I was able to punch my way closer to the surface before I ran into a rather strange issue: concrete. I had never dug out of concrete, and I was running out of air. I could feel the space heating, my body boiling as the oxygen escaped, and the carbon dioxide drowned me. Eyes fluttering and bulging in the dark. The weight of the dirt and crumbling cement pushing down on my chest. I died again.

When I woke, there was air. I must have been graced with a shallow grave, because something had cracked the concrete. A thin ray of light shone through the narrow crevice, piercing into the tomb. Air filled my lungs, but it was tainted, dirty, yellow air. I worked with the chisel, fighting at the now crumbling surface. Normally when I emerged from a grave, there was a fair, and justified amount of panic and screaming, but this time there was silence. Creeping from the dirt and rocks — a creature born of the earth. My hair was down to my ankles, mucky with soil. I tied it into a massive bun atop my head until I could find something to shear it. I was wearing an orange, and green plaid shirt, with a brown working jacket, and jeans. I remembered from this last, longer life that I was happy. I had a family. Families had come before, and many children. To keep them safe, I would die somehow; resetting my clock, and visiting them when they were old and their memories were failing them. From the time that I slept, my last family was long gone — Maria, Leo, and Christine all gone to dust.

Looking around, large concrete structures surrounded me. The stones were in grotesque shapes, ivy and grasses grew around them, roots chiseling into foundations. The world was very quiet, the kind of quiet that unnerves humans; I remember that quiet, from the wars, and plagues. I walked east, coughing through the clouds of sulfur — I was dying of thirst this time, and I needed a drink.

Turning a corner out of the green space, it became clear why there were no sounds, save for my steps. The city — where I had lived and sculpted, and raised my children — was gone. In its place was a blackened shell. I knew that the ocean was on the other side of the city, so I began to walk. There was no radiation I knew, I had felt the effects before. I didn’t need to walk much further before prayers were answered, a heavy, pounding rain poured over the city; cupping my hands, I had my fill.

The water tasted cleaner than any water I’d had before.

Reaching the harbor, a panicked beeping from under a large, stray piece of sheet metal sounded. I flipped it over, and springing up out of the sand was a rusted, and weary machine. It had a singular digital eye on the right side of its “face” and it stood about three feet tall.

“Error. Error.” it said.

“What error?” The first words I spoke came out like sloppy molasses.

“Human.” it pointed at me with stubby wired fingers.

“Yes, I am human… Can you tell me what happened here?”

“Humans. Eliminated. Each. Other.”

“Ah.” I said sitting down in sand, “Truth be told, I am not surprised. I’ve seen people wiped out by plagues, and wars, and gas, and greed. It was only a matter of time.”

“Error. How. Is. It. You. Are. Here? Error.”

“That is a great question, not sure I have a comprehensible answer for you.”

“I. Must. Take. To. Proto.”

“Fair enough.” I clapped my hands on my knees, and gestured for the robot to lead the way. North through the city, up along the coast, it was the visual definition of fallout — death without evidence. “What is your name?”

“I. Do. Not. Have. One.”

“Hmm, can I give you one?”

The robot made a shallow cooing sound before replying, “Acceptable.”

“How about Hal?”

“From. Space. Odyssey?”

“I was thinking after Halimedes, a cyclops from Greek mythology… But you are right, maybe something less morbid. Do you like anything in particular?”

“I. Like. Night.”

“How about Nyx? I’ve always been a fan of the classics.”

“Acceptable.”

“Great. Now Nyx, who is this Proto?”

Nyx’s voice changed, like a car battery that finally charged after running for a while, “They are the original. The first. Proto commands us. They aid and guide the Collective.”

“Fascinating.” As I walked, I looked Nyx up and down. Thinking of the mini robot that Leonardo da Vinci made, he and I had crossed paths once or twice, but it was Donatello who was a good friend of mine. I even modeled for some of his work. The first submarine. Battery. Electricity. Computer. Phone. Cellphone. Laptop. Now this. “So they’re all gone? Humans that is?”

“With the exception of you.”

“And they all died?”

“No. Some escaped to the sky.”

I looked up into the sky obstructed by the dissipating storm clouds, “Figures.” As we closed into a large semi circle of hollowed out buildings, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. Other little robots, and droids, androids peaked around corners, I could hear some beeps, boops, coos, and chimes that my presence elicited. A crowd gathered; large ones, tiny ones, all of them following me to the center of the semi-circle. A cloaked humanoid climbing atop rubble and iron emerged from the depths of the architectural carcasses. Proto stood on the raised platform of debris, casting they’re arms wide. A distinctly masculine voice came from him, “Hello human.”

“Hello.” I smiled, “My name is Hugh, Hugh Fisher.”

“How is it you are here?”

“I am cursed.”

“Elaborate.” the wind caught the hood, which ripped back.

There stood before Hugh, a man, plain and simple until the sun struck his flesh. Shining lights were his eyes, and they flickered arhythmically to blink. Much of his nose was missing, wires and circuits could be spied easily past the synthetic skin. Proto’s mouth was that of a radio, painted to look like teeth.

“It is hard to explain… I have been alive longer than any other human.”

“How long?”

“What year is it?”

“We do not keep time… But in your years, “The screens flickered and processed. The year 2932 — October 16th.”

“I have been alive since 1289, I was cursed to live eternal.”

“One thousand, six-hundred, and forty three years. How?”

“I do not know.”

“Prove it.”

“Kill me.”

“What?”

I spread my hands out in a wide arc. “Kill me. Burn. Stab. Crush. Whatever you chose, I will return. My cross to bear.”

“Our programming prevents us from harming humans.”

“Oh yeah? Doesn’t look like you tried too hard to prevent the humans from harming each other.”

“That was not our directive.”

“I was telling my friend there,” I gestured toward Nyx, “that I was not surprised to hear of the extinction. There are no other humans on Earth?”

The flickering of Proto’s screen-eyes betrayed him, “There are no humans.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“There is one… But they are not human.”

“May I speak with them?”

“You will need to journey far south from here. It will take you many days, perhaps months to reach it.”

“Fine.”

Proto’s head spun in three complete circles before finding the direction was seeking, his arm shot up. “That way… And take that one with you. He pointed to Nyx.”

The two of them journey for nearly a year before they found the other being. The two stumbled into a clearing of cherry and apple trees and there she was; the witch.