A.R. Yngve was born in Sweden in 1969. He has been writing short stories since childhood, and published comic-strips in Sweden in the 1990s. His first published short story, "Grisham's World," appeared in the print and Web edition of THE 12 GAUGE REVIEW, issue #6 in the late 1990s.

TERRA HEXA 2, a sequel to his sci-fi novel TERRA HEXA, is slated for Swedish release in 2006.

He wondered what year it was. Then he wondered why. It was hard to keep that thought. He raised his arm to look at the wristwatch. Oh yeah, he’d broken it a few minutes ago, because having to keep the time made him feel trapped.

Crap. His stomach rumbled. There was a weird smell from the kitchen. Had he decided not to use the bathroom again?

Don't think about the smell don't think about the smell in the kitchen if you don't want it to be there it isn't oh God please help me I'm so confused --

Stumbling over garbage and various dropped items, he made his way to the kitchen, avoiding the unimportant object It's not there it's not there that blocked the aisle, and opened the fridge door. A stench of spoiled meat, milk and vegetables wafted out. He shut the door.

He had to get food somewhere. Did he have to pay for it? Who was going to tell him what he could buy? Screw that.

"I can do whatever I want!" he shouted, somewhat hoarsely, and relieved himself on the floor just to prove it. His clothes smelled bad, so he removed them, and walked out the front door wearing only his shoes. For a moment he considered doing away with shoes too -- why should his feet -- his own wonderful, unique feet -- be restricted by the tyranny of shoes that someone else had made? But the street looked rather uncomfortable today, what with all the broken glass and stuff lying around.

His mobile phone beeped. He picked it up.

"Yeah?"

Someone who claimed to be his mother started rambling. "I...I just did something to your father!" the bewildered voice said. "We had an argument, and suddenly...I stabbed him! It's horrible, Nick."

"Why are you calling me Nick, bitch?"

"But that's your name! If you don't mind being called Nick..."

"Well, if you put it that way, sure, why not? You said you stabbed my father...so, like, did he die or something?"

"Well...he's still breathing, I think...but it's so horrible...he's bleeding all over my carpet! You bastard!" There was a thudding noise in the background for a brief while, then the voice returned, exhilarated. "I feel better now. I was thinking, would you like to come over and help me carry him out to the garbage? It's my back, you know."

"I don't know...why should I do that?"

"Can I offer you something in return? Money, food, body?"

Nick nodded. "I'll make up my mind on the way, okay? Don't sit up and wait. Bye now."

"Bye-bye!"

Nick tossed away the phone and looked around. The air smelled of things burning. Columns of smoke billowed up from downtown. Well, he thought, better mosy over the mall and find something edible.

Someone ran down the opposite side of the street, firing a gun into the air. Nick started and ducked down, but the armed man ignored him.

"We have to stop!" an old man cried out, standing on an upturned crate outside the supermarket. "We have to start remembering what it used to be like before! Can't you see we're destroying everything? Why are we doing this? There used to be something that kept things in order...something..."

The old man scratched his head and gazed out in the open air. The four onlookers got bored and left him. Nick came up to the old man and said hi. The old man had a long beard and shabby clothes.

"Weren't you that guy who used to hang around begging?" Nick asked.

"Yeah. But now it's no fun."

"I remember something else about you now," Nick said, and grinned. The old man smiled back.

"What?"

Nick kicked him in the groin and yanked his beard so he fell forward. "I always hated it when you came begging to me. I hated it! Hated it!" Nick kicked and stomped until the bearded old man had stopped moving. He had to catch his breath. It was warm outside.

Then he went inside the supermarket. The other looters had left, leaving behind mostly non-food items. Rhythmic grunts and screams could be heard from the frozen foods section. That old beggar had said something...should he care? About stopping... why would Nick care about taking orders? Nobody could tell him what to do. Nobody mattered.

Nick picked up a dropped bottle from the floor and opened it. While he drank, strolling through the aisles, it occurred to him: Did he matter? Why should he? He might just as well be dead. Nick bonked himself over the head with the bottle. But then again, he'd miss out on fun things. Fun was fun. No point missing out on fun.

He finished the bottle and tossed it away. Crap again. The candy shelves had been wiped clean; not so much as a single chocolate bar left. A child lay dead among a pile of torn-up candy-wrappers, his face smeared with chocolate; his belly was grotesquely swollen. Apparently the kid ate himself to death.

"Jerk," Nick muttered as he walked past. "Could've left something for me."

Maybe the staff had stashed something away in the storage space. Nick opened the door to the PERSONNEL ONLY section and started chattering his teeth. He had forgotten how cold it used to be there. He retreated to the clothes aisle and found a pair of pants, a cap and a bathrobe. Then he returned to the storage section. A forklift truck stood abandoned among crates of goods. Smiling, Nick dug into a box of Snickers and started eating away. More gunfire echoed from the street, but he ignored it.

There was a noise behind him; he spun around.

Nick dropped the bundle of Snickers bars to the floor. A group of figures had appeared in the doorway. They looked like they were made of wire coathangers and chickenwire, and their heads were like dark marble balls, devoid of eyes. But they moved like living things, in jerky insectile movements.

One of them raised a metal-wire arm, and held out a small object with little sprouts. The object spoke in a raspy voice.

"Do you understand what we are?"

"Shit... you're not real. Nothing is real. Only I am real... I think."

"If only you are real, then why can I say this? You do not exist. Nothing matters, nothing means anything, so you are free. You may die. You are free. Are you not?"

"Of course I'm free. Who says anything else?"

"That is right. Prove how free you are."

"O-okay..." Nick lunged forward, driven by a surge of purpose. "I'll kill you, you bastards! You did something to us!"

The beings hopped out of his way, like fleas on springy legs, and landed gracefully on the concrete floor.

"Is this freedom? We are still here. Prove that you are free. Can you do anything? Anything at all?"

He was breathing hard, and tossed the cap at the thin beings. (Why did he do that? He didn't have to prove anything to anyone.)

"I don't have to prove anything to anyone!"

"You are right. You are always right."

"That's right!"

"You are a god. You created everything, including yourself."

Nick started to laugh, intoxicated by the idea they had put in his head. "Yeah! That's right! So now..." He waved his arms in a magic command. "Now I'll make you disappear!"

Nothing of the sort happened.

"We were just playing with you. You are not a god."

For no apparent reason at all, Nick sat down on a crate and started crying. "No! You can't take my godhood from me! I own you!"

The wire-and-mesh beings hopped closer to him. The thing with the sprouts spoke in a lower voice. "Do you want to know what we did to you?"

"I'm not listening, la la la... you're not here, she's not dead, I did not kill her, it wasn't me, I will wake up and she'll be alive again... la la la..."

"We removed a simple chemical sequence in your brains, and made you completely, absolutely free."

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!"

"We want you to know this is nothing personal. We do not judge you. It is wrong to judge anyone."

Nick shut his eyes and bit his tongue bloody.

"Do you want us to kill you?"

He stopped crying and stared at the expressionless, opaque marble spheres that passed for heads. "You could do that?"

"If you want to."

"Yes, thank you, thank you, thank you. Do it quickly, please."

"There."

A metal needle shot out from the wire arm and pierced Nick's head. He was dead before he hit the floor.

The beings hopped away, and out through the cargo bay. Their work had only begun.