our lost conductor

10/18/22 - this was started on 10/18 and finalized on 11/1/2022, with the google docs titles of "eva commits an act of terrorism" and "This is insanely long sorry" lmfao.

It was an in class assignment based on Lusus Naturae by Margaret Atwood. We had finished reading the story in class and were assigned to write a first-person story with these guidlines:

i REALLY loved lusus naturae, so i was of course super excited to write this. I had run a few ideas around in my head: maybe write about Juggy/the Juggernaut watching society from the darkness, maybe about Eva's distortion (which i had been thinking about and drawing a lot), or about Farrow or Julian and the wonders of being undead. Eventually I ended up settling on writing about Eva, with my first point to hop off of being the fact that he was essentially dead or missing in normal society, and then making himself very known on accident after getting emotional. After a while of writing, erasing, rewriting, and going insane to my friends and getting it peer reviewed and edited, I ended up with this.

It's one of my personal favorites. :-)

divider

It has been approximately one month since my disappearance, and the death of Eva Schauer as we knew him.


I’ve made my appearances a rare, elusive thing. A glimpse of moving wires through a crack in the walls, a slithering beast against creaky floorboards in the night, a pair of glowing yellow eyes in the dark. I don’t make myself known on purpose. I know it hurts them to be reminded that I’m still here, refusing to spare them even a glance at my new form. But a creature my size cannot go completely invisible. As much as I’ve tried to disappear and finally be done with Eva, my husbands tirelessly continue to puppet his corpse. 


“Oh, he’s alright!” Jules lied to the dean this morning, who visited our home to ensure I hadn’t fled the country. “Yeah, he just—he’s sick, you see, and we can’t get him out…no, it’s alright, we’ll keep paying for a substitute—yeah, I’ll tell him. I’m sorry. How’s Devona? Oh, she’s okay? No—yes, tell her he’ll be back soon…I’m sorry, again, ma’am.”

I watched from a nearby electrical outlet, its holes glowing bright from my telltale eyes. I listened closely—Jules asked about Devona, one of my star students. Did they miss me, back there? I saw the dean’s eyes flick towards me for a second, and I quickly averted my gaze to dim the outlet’s glow. 


“I’m not going back,” I had told Jules later that day, the time of day when Jules and Atlas would sit by the laundry cabinet, or the electrical outlet in the hall, or the attic door, and talk to nothing. “You know that,” nothing would say.

“You can’t just rot away in our walls, hon,” Atlas would reply, exhaustion in his voice. “It isn’t good for you.”

“It’s not like I have a body to get sick anymore, anyways.”

“It’s not that. It’s your mind.” Jules’s voice would press against the wall. “You know, all those stories about distortions being dangerous…they didn’t just hurt people for no reason. They were troubled, Eva, overemotional and unrestrained. You’re scared of hurting anyone, but if you keep treating yourself like a caged dog you’re…it’s like pulling a rubber band back and not expecting it to snap. It isn’t going to be good for you.”

“I’m not one of them,” I quickly hissed. “You don’t know anything about me anymore. I have more self control than other distortions—you told me!” My voice had taken on a strange robotic quality to it, ever since I shed my human shell, so hearing emotion burst from it felt alien. It reflected the electric blood flowing through the wire veins composing my new mass, and its metallic drone hurt to hear. A constant reminder that I wasn’t going back to the days of human flesh and bone.

“I–I didn’t mean it like that,” he stuttered. “I just—we miss you, okay? If you aren’t gonna come out for us, at least do it for yourself, okay? We’ll just—we’ll just wait for you, until you’re ready...”

I slithered back. I hated these conversations. If anything, I’d love a talk about music theory again. Ask me about how to label a staff, ask me what a quarter rest was, tell me about this new song you heard—something I’m good at. A sense of normalcy amongst anything but.

They heard me begin to slither away, and Atlas quickly moved to press his face against the wall, now.

“We love you, okay?” He said. “Don’t forget that. We love you so much.” 

I couldn’t bear to say it back. It had been hard to get myself to do it in this voice. It wasn’t me saying it anymore, it was The Conductor, or whatever the hell the public chose to call me after my distortion episode. 


Distortion, they called my affliction. It’s a strange phenomenon in which, after a sizable outburst of emotion, the Light within a person corrupts and engulfs them, turning their inner turmoils, personality, and mind outwards into a physical manifestation of their ego. Engulfed in a bright light, I knew what was happening to me the moment it occurred smack dab at my workplace, but I had hoped I would become something palatable. Something nice, and nonthreatening, or something mundane, so that I could continue my life teaching my music students and going on walks with my loves. Naturally, however, my Light refused to grant me that wish, and turned me into living electricity, encased by whatever it could be housed in. Wires, cables, electrical appliances—if it ran off electricity or transferred it, I could call it my body.


I slithered back to the Conductor’s hole in the home’s frame, an empty attic with a door that hasn’t been closed in weeks. I lay my husk to rest, knowing sleep couldn’t come in this form, but feeling at rest nonetheless. I heard the two talk indistinguishably below me, quietly so that I couldn’t hear. My curiosity led me to find that open attic door and peer through the crack, down at the unknowing two.

Jules was crumpled in Atlas’s lap, kneeling down in the same spot they had been talking to me through. His shoulders trembled greatly in waves of what I could only assume were quiet sobs, and Atlas simply bowed his head above his and returned the same motions. 

I was doing them more harm than good. That was the night I decided I was going to listen to their words, and get out of there.


I waited until the house was completely quiet to begin my escape. It had been a while since I snuck out of the house—I hadn’t done it since I was a kid. I almost felt the same exhilaration as back then, my electric pulse heightening and bringing a gentle static to my surroundings as I snaked down to the nearest cable plugged into the wall. I conducted my electricity down from the greater wire husk composing my body into the little wire connected into the wall, which led me to the house’s electrical system, which then connected to the outside world.

This entire time I had been terrified to set foot even an inch away from home. But now, surfing down a lone telephone pole, I felt like a bird soaring over seas. 

The nights in the City were lifeless around this block, but my electric form found itself gravitating towards the more populated part of the district—the arts district. My home. Bright neon lights flew below me, and I stopped occasionally to stare through shop windows, listen to street buskers, and take in the night air I had missed so dearly. I found my way to a corner of the arts district filled with fellow artists gathering that night. My people.

But as I sat suspended above while my prestigious music folk chatted and exchanged opinions on tonight’s ensemble below me, I realized how separated our worlds had become. A feeling of yearning threatened to engulf me until I caught a glance at the building these people were trailing into tonight—the performance hall! I had fond memories of performing here with my students in front of very distinguished-looking crowds, and it seems like there was a performance going on tonight.

I heard Jules in my head, beckoning me to get out and get fresh air. Surely this is what he would’ve wanted. I then remembered his trembling shoulders sobbing into a defeated Atlas’s lap and I wondered if perhaps the performance hall would be a nice place full of electronics to call home, away from the two. That way I wouldn’t ever have to see them that way again. 


“Last call!” Said the dapper man at the door, ushering the line of equally dapper people trailing into the warm light. 

Don’t mind if I do.

I followed the telephone wires until I found a stray wire connecting down to the streetlight, which then trailed down into another mess of cables, which led…directly into the performance hall. I moved with desperation. Oh, if anything could make me feel at home in this lifeless form, it would be a nice symphony. Sure, the two at home tried to play recordings to lure me out, but nothing could ever compare to hearing it live, and here I was, rapidly approaching the main hall through the lighting system.


Finally, I arrived, and the orchestra was just about to begin. I scanned the audience—it was packed full! There were barely any seats, and I felt an instinctual panic brew in my circuits before I realized I could have any seat I wanted, as long as it stuck to the ceiling. I was in the lighting system, hooked up to the big bright stage lights and the electric systems that raised and lowered them, I found my perfect seat right above the performers. My eyes became great bright stage lights, and my chest became their frame. I could see the symphony’s arrangement of seats and their big fancy instruments, and if I squinted I could even catch a glance at their sheet music. I tried to read what they were going to play, but I couldn’t make out a word.


I rocked with eagerness, and it wasn’t until I noticed the stage lights rocking with me that I stopped. The performers glanced up at the ceiling with uncertainty, but they didn’t have time to investigate—the show was about to begin. I retreated back slightly.


It was a strong start. The signature roar of string and woodwind kicked off The Barber of Seville’s overture, a classic—in fact, I had shown my students this one just a month ago. The lights dimmed to signify their beginning, and strangely enough, I could feel it. It was a strange feeling—almost like a leg untensing after being tensed up for a while. A tide washing out to sea. Ah—but the strings! They were loud and clear, louder than ever before up at this height! And the woodwinds, I could practically hear the breaths running through their reeds, and the echo of the backmost performers repeating right after the front—it was the happiest I’ve felt in ages. 

I could see the conductor up front, waving his wand with an official power to his swings, chest puffed out and coattails quivering with every move. I could see myself in him—my coat was white, of course, and I would definitely use one without the coattails—but seeing his arm rise up and down with each swell in the song—I knew how to play this one! It wasn’t until the song was over that I realized one of the brass players was looking up directly at me.


I had been swaying subconsciously again, and the lights moved with me. He eyed the lights with growing anxiety. I caught myself almost going to apologize before I stopped myself. 

Perhaps I wasn’t suited to front row seats—not in this form. Not until I learned self restraint. I left the stage lights with a heavy embarrassment, slithering back into the wires close to the ceiling above the crowd instead. I could hear the shuffle of pages behind me. They were beginning their second song. I watched that brass player in the back lean over to the one sitting behind him, who quickly stood and ran to the back. I felt nervous, but knowing my true form was hidden amongst the wiring system behind the stage lights, I decided to let it slide.


They went on to play two more pieces— Paganini’s Violin Concerto no. 2 in B minor, all three movements, and a beautiful solo piece from one of the promising violinists that reminded me of one of my own students. The intermission began, and people got up from their seats, leaving me with an unfamiliar lightness in my circuits. 


Ever since my distortion I felt weighed down and lethargic, pacing around the same few hiding spots like wading through molasses. Being restricted into this form has brought me nothing but shame and grief, but now, having gone out and snuck into an orchestra, I realize perhaps this body wasn’t just a neverending punishment. Perhaps Jules was right—maybe I did just need to go out and realize what I could do. Oh, Jules. If only he and Atlas could see how happy I was now! 

The sound of a nearby ladder being propped up and the feeling of the stage lights being lowered brought me out of my daze. My yellow eyes flicked to look down below and caught sight of one of the performance hall’s staff ascending to take a look at the lights. I felt a jolt of fear strike me. I held as still as I possibly could as he closely inspected the lighting system. He had no idea that the fearsome, terrible Conductor was among him, and definitely made those lights move on accident. My eyes couldn’t stop glowing, I had no choice but to try and tilt the wires making up my head around to conceal them.

The staff person glanced up at the sudden movement, and I locked eyes with him. We held still like that for a while, my two headlight eyes staring into his wide human ones. Without breaking eye contact, he gave the stage lights a final pat before beginning to descend from the ladder. He moved slowly at first, but then climbed faster, until he stumbled to the ground, grabbed his ladder haphazardly, and sprinted back into the backrooms. 


…He saw me. I scared him. 

I…had scared him. 


Did I feel bad? I felt a little guilty, making the poor boy so afraid, but something in me was relieved he was gone. He was gone, and the symphony was preparing for their final song. I slithered back further into the crowd. I was safe once more.

The curtains opened to reveal a soloist, a pianist. She had her hair dyed green and pulled back into a bun, with two wispy strands loose by her ears. 

Devona, my star pianist, was sitting in front of an audience of hundreds, about to play the lead. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I mean, I could, she was very talented, but—my Devona! She had truly done it, and during the time I was gone, she had scored her spot in a live performance away from the school! I couldn’t help but snake back to my spot amongst the stage lights, being able to watch her closely. Traces of static electricity built up around my wire insulation in sheer joy, feeling almost like hair standing on end. 

Her playing form was just how I had taught her. She used to slouch, causing her arms to become sloppy, but now in front of the crowd she sat straight and composed, with her hands in the correct position. She adjusted the sheet music and began to play. And as soon as she pressed down those first keys, I knew her piece. Clair de lune, one of my favorite pieces, and the first I had ever taught them to play in sync.


The stage lights began to strain and flickered for a split second as the rest of the symphony began to chime in with her. I could do nothing but watch silently as she played beautifully supported by the orchestra, her keystrokes echoing through the walls of the establishment like a gentle breeze, swelling into a storm among the rest of the instruments beside her. I felt my face area warm up, and if my eyes could still shed tears, they’d surely be welling and falling like rain. A few people below me began to look up and squint, I saw the staff person reappear from the back of the room with two men in official-looking gear. They took a glimpse up at where he pointed and widened their eyes just like he had.


I couldn’t look away. Even with this sudden attention, I couldn’t look away from the source of the music. This song had been one I had learned myself after many nights of practice with Atlas and Jules by my side, played after jovial dinners and rough nights alike, one I had agonized over until I hit perfection. It was one I returned to whenever I felt down, and one Atlas knew comforted me greatly whenever my emotions began to swell. Now separated far from the two, causing them so much grief over the course of these four weeks, finally getting the strength to go outside and free the two of my burden over the home, confirming my fears of being the fearsome distortion the City makes us all out to be, yet finally getting to watch one of my students play so beautifully accompanied by professionals after our months of hard work only after deciding to rid myself from the world for good…

I totally lost it.


My electric heart burst like a firecracker. I felt a choked wail erupt from my chest, disguised by a loud crack through the gentle piano playing, the sound of an electrical overload. Smoke poured from the stage lights and the spark formed from my sudden pulse of electricity caught fire to the rubber insulation. Devona stopped playing and jumped to her feet, the conductor behind her pointing up to where I was. My bright yellow eyes reflected the same fear they held, and I craned my upper wires to face what my emotional outburst had caused.

The fire quickly made itself apparent. The symphony and its audience had caught a glimpse at my eyes, and slowly their eyes traveled down to become aware of my body, stretching and contorting the wires across the ceiling longer than they usually extend, encasing the ceiling in an electric web of tangled cables. They realized they were not alone, and when I began to shrink back the panic only escalated as they learned that the thing on the ceiling was alive. 


Staff began to usher the orchestra to emergency exits as the fire spread. The officials called for a suppression team—experts in dealing with Distortions and beasts alike. The animal control of the city. They burst in with weapons. Being just as panicked as the crowd, I had been trying to flee the scene—the fire melted away my insulation, which was now the equivalent of my skin, and it hurt me excruciatingly so. I turned to face the sudden commotion and got blasted by the wind of a bullet whirring by. It snapped a hole into my wires, and suddenly I felt a pain much greater than the fire. My eyes shot wide in fear, giving away my location, and moved with me as I tried to slip away down the electrical system. The team followed behind me, evident by their blatant disregard for the safety of the burning performance hall as they shot more holes into the ceiling. Panicked, I let the stage lights drop behind me as I exited the room. I heard a few scream at the sudden drop and crash, but I did not look back.

I tried to catch a glimpse of Devona’s green hair among the crowd, but could not find her. I could only hope she got out safely. What have I done? That hall would burn quickly, sparked by a stir in one measly man’s emotions, and those I had trapped under stage lights wouldn’t stand a chance. 

I moved with the crowd, who split and screamed the moment they caught sight of me, giving the security folk full clearance to dig more bullets into me. I was about to slip away into another outlet when one of them got the idea to take a machete and hack away into the wires I was heading towards. Oh, what a bright one you are, I thought as the pain equivalent to an amputated limb coursed through my body overwhelmingly fast. My wires dropped down to the floor, and I curled into myself to try and ease the pain. Nothing worked—this body wouldn’t function like a human’s. The guard with the machete drew in and aimed straight for my head, aiming to lop it off. 

I did as any panicked creature fleeting from its containment would do and fought back. A truck stop tiger had been set free from its self-made prison, and it tangled its wiry limbs around the man like a snake coiling around its prey. It squeezed him and got its wires around his neck, tightening a grip around it until he choked and swung his arms wildly. The guard managed to slash deeper into its wires. It did not let go of him until he fell limp.

I turned to the others and my eyes glowed like headlights, my mangled wires rising from the ground and away from the motionless body. They aimed their guns, and as my upper body went to find a new outlet my lower half lagged behind to grab at their legs. I caught a few of them and swept them away with me, through the crowd, who barely had time to jump away and surely trampled the men. At last, I found my exit, and slipped into another outlet. 


I didn’t plan where I was going. I blindly swam through the electrical maze in the dark, full speed ahead, and soon found myself high up on a telephone pole once more, light rain pouring onto me. I gazed out at the crowd now oozing out from the burning hall. Firemen had been called, and I heard the faint sirens in the distance. People called their loved ones in a sobbing panic outside the doors, some wandering around in the rain trying to find each other.


“You know, all those stories about distortions being dangerous…” Jules’s voice echoed in my head. 

Why would I ever doubt him? Does he even know where I am? What would he and his husband think of what I had done?


A bullet shot right past me. I hadn’t noticed my eyes peeking out through a gap in the wires—foolish me! I surfed down the wires and found myself snaking low to the ground, around the fallen wires near the telephone pole, and hid there, eyes still glowing bright.


Down the street I caught a glimpse of Atlas and Jules, running down with flashlights in one hand and their weapons drawn in the other. Jules was still in his robe, looking as if he had just stumbled out of bed and thrown on jeans, and Atlas was in a dirty jacket, in a similar situation. The world tilted around me. What were they doing here? Had the commotion woken them up? Are they here to save me from my consequences?  I quickly retreated up the wires and into the telephone pole, looking down at them with wide eyes. Would they recognize me?


The guards caught up to me. One wielded a large blade. He caught sight of my headlight eyes and readied up a great swing as he approached the pole. In the distance, Atlas grabbed Jules’s shoulder and pointed him to the ruckus, and he readied his weapon. 


It was all a blur in the moment. I ascended to the peak of the pole but still felt sharp stabbing pain when his ax cut into the wires below and inevitably let out a great big spark. Lights went out across the street. No insulated gloves shielded him from the consequence of his violence. Atlas grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away. I couldn’t see what Jules did, as I was beginning to fall. With the blow and the subsequent blackout I had a lapse in my consciousness and couldn’t hold myself up, and the wires of the telephone pole drooped down as I fell, nothing but a pile of formless cables laying on city street. 


“Eva? Eva, is that you?” I heard Atlas’s voice through sirens, rain, and a panicked crowd. “Jules, oh my god, it’s him! Jules!”


I couldn’t hold my head up, and soon his voice blended in with the rest. I was finally out cold, after a sleepless month. I slept the best I ever had on that wet sidewalk. Maybe this was for the best after all. I got to sleep, and faced the consequences of being a hostile Distortion in a non-distorted world. I learned my lesson, and Eva Schauer once again faded away without a trace. 


The last thing I saw before my power went out was Atlas, scooping up my wires in a panic, taking heaps and heaps into his arms the moment he realized it was me.

divider

as a bonus, here is a tag on my art blog that just contains drawings of eva's distortion, known as "our lost conductor" :-)

i am wires, i want to go home