Chapter 5:

Porcus

A Steam Requiem


While Eugo could be found wandering through a metal desert searching for his snow haired friend, a round pig sat contemplating his existence. 

George’s life in the dome almost seemed like a paradox, like everyone else in the dome he was skinny, dusty and wore permanent dark bruises under the eyes. Yet somehow out of his dull brain came pride, such a powerful emotion that it widened him in the eyes of many an onlooker. 

George felt he inherited this from his father, who gave off a similarly large presence. Though George’s selective hearing ignored most people’s opinion that his father was strong… and he was just a bowling ball.

George would spend his time trudging around aimlessly, going day to day with practically nothing special happening ever. Today was one such day and the boy spent his morning staring at the ceiling. “I sure could have a nicer ceiling … Maybe mum will get me one … Although I got my new shirt recently … I’ll ask her later.” 

Laying completely unproductive in his bed George rolled around knowing very well that his mother had nothing against it.

“George darling, could you come down here?”

“Sure, thing mother dearest!”

Waddling his way downstairs at the pace of a snail, George eventually made his way into the one and only main living area in his house. It contained necessities such as his father’s steam engine, a table, his mother’s round cooking instrument and some other random junk that George had commissioned some time long ago.

“Dear, would you be able to collect the local announcement and our food again?”

“Sounds good, when do you want me to head off?”

“Well I think sooner rather than later is always good, it depends on when you want to eat. Or you could keep laying up in that room of yours starving to death.”

“…Fine I’ll head off now, I’ll see you in an hour mother.”

George blobbed out the door with all the time in the world, unlike Eugo he never felt the need to rush into anything. 

His father kept telling him it would only be another few coal cycles before he was bashed by a Spotless… Not that George had seen many Spotless recently, so he hoped it wouldn’t come to that any time soon.

George strolled down the slum paths, going only the way he absolutely knew, straying from that path could cause the boy to hyperventilate within at least five seconds. 

About halfway to the centre he lodged his foot properly in a foot-hole, it clamped around his foot causing him to trip. What ensued was a sudden outburst of mass shouting, swearing and then sitting. 

After calming himself down George straightened his back, flattened his hair and continued on slightly more peacefully.

§

George made his way towards the first part of his day, admiring lady Helena. A young dark-skinned, haired and eyed lady, George had what most would call an infatuation with her. 

Yet today he had a job to do… so in other words a bit of patience had to be unfortunately exercised by the boy.

Continuing on, George saw Eugo, seemingly in a rush somewhere, although Eugo had always been very odd. George knew for fact that he had fantastic taste when it came to love, which is why he could not comprehend Eugo’s obsession over a round scrap machine blowing steam. 

He had always thought Eugo never had “normal” interests, sometimes admiring a single round chunk of coal other days he simply despised candles.

George didn’t have time to follow Eugo, so he continued with his daily chore. It was conversation time.

“Hello Madame Grey, may I have my family’s share of food today”

“Why of course young George, just give me a second to find it”

Madame Grey was simply put, true to her name. Dull in appearance, job and personality, George’s mother often said she leeched the emotions of those around her.

“Here it is George, enjoy.”

“Thank you, kindly Madame Grey, I shall see you upon our next coal cycle.”

George noticed something slightly off, a Spotless man lay waiting out the door of a store. He could be seen as a peculiarity of sorts in the town, leaning nonchalant against a wall. His snow tinted jacket had already stained grey in the scorching air, as though a few more hours would leave him indistinguishable from another Scorcher.

George had two goals in talking to this man, the first was to hopefully improve his speech and second to sate his curiosity.

“Hello Sir.”

“…”

“Sir, Hello?”

“…”
“Sir!”

“You do know it is rude to wake someone from a daily nap… child.”

“Oh. Um. Yes of course very sorry sir, is there any way I might be able to fix my mistake.”

“Why yes, leave.” Declared the man, ending the conversation before it had even begun.

George was stunned, he could not comprehend this man’s impotence! He only wished to improve himself… and yet the man had asked him to leave. George was suitably distraught about the affair and spent some time contemplating what he should have done.

“Maybe I should have poked him? Or kept asking questions? Hmmmm.” George’s recession into a humming microwave caused several people to stare at the poor boy.

There was one other question George could not understand, what could such a pristine man be doing in the steam slums? George after all had noted his scowl to be especially… unpleasant. 

According to George’s Mum, Spotless rarely visited the slums except for one of two reasons, sometimes even both. The first was if they needed something, anything from taking back some coal to stealing a young boy’s meal. The second was for entertainment, sometimes confused with a method of releasing pent up emotions.

Instead, he took the situation into his own hands, as George “Master of Stealth.” Not once in his life had he ever been truly caught for his actions, and he planned to keep it that way. 

Rolling past sheet metal and into pile of ash, George practiced his speciality of camouflage; he was practically unnoticeable. A spin, turn and dance coated him in black soot, simultaneously painting himself as an idiot.

George found his Spotless target just as he entered into a small building. It stood just as tall as the rest, made of common steel, and coated in soot illuminated by candlelight. 

Creeping closer towards the seemingly normal building, George plastered his body against the wall. Admittedly it would take the average man twice maybe even three times as long to notice the oblong boy in soot. Unfortunately, they still noticed him though.

“Pay up bastard!”

Hearing a voice from inside, George peeped into a small pin sized hole and listened.

“I… I don’t have your weapon ready yet sir” Said an oddly familiar elder voice. George could make out the shrivelled body of a Scorcher trembling on the ground.

“It has been three weeks! Do you useless fucking mutts have any sense of time?”

“Sir… might I ask how long a week is?” George finally recognised the voice to be that of the local shovelsmith, whom he had talked to many times before in the town centre.

George continued to watch; the Spotless man brought an iron cane onto the shovelsmith. The old man’s thin bones broke under the pressure cracking with each swing. While the man in white simply continued, coldly.

With such vigour did the man hit, it was as though he had been raised to do so. The sole purpose of hurting others for one’s needs drove the man. Those who wake to the eyes of a weapon grow to use them, while those who woke to coal learnt to smelt it.

George planned to intervene with this scuffle, taking a brief step he inhaled. Eyes contracting, he stepped back once again. The elder’s muffled cries caused another step back. Their rhythmic thuds caused George to fall away from the door.

Shaking on the cold floor he clawed at his head. Memories of crimson flowed into his mind, bubbling from eyes. Torn limbs, decapitated heads and…

He exhaled.

A firm grip on his shoulder guided him away from the horrific scene, a common job for fathers in this harsh world. George’s wish that day was not one of heroism, nor one of ignorance, he simply wished for people to understand each other.

Perhaps this utopian world is what lulled the boy to sleep that evening, settling his guilt with it.