It Approaches

Carelessly avoiding existence, she sat in the cold damp corner, eyes closed, arms wrapped around her knees and pulled close to her chest. Rocking steadily, slowly front to back. It was in this manner she spent hours, maybe even days, it is hard to say when the laws of time don’t apply here.

She stayed in that corner and waited for it to come, no inkling of what it actually was. She sat there and listened to it, a metronomic THRUMPH, THRUMPH, THRUMPH.  Never growing louder. Never getting softer. A steady cadence of THRUMPH, THRUMPH, THRUMPH, occasionally to be interrupted by a hacking, wheezing sound. The hacking, coughing expulsion, however, did grow in volume every time she heard it. That is how she understood it was approaching. There was only one way into this dead-end and she had not the courage to face the thing head on. So she waited there, listening, fearing its arrival.

THRUMPH, THRUMPH, it continued until the hacking, cough sounded like it was directly in front of her. THRUMPH, THRUMPH… until it suddenly ceased. She could feel its presence in front of her, but she dare not open her eyes and acknowledge its presence. It expelled a deafening, wheezing cough, that caused her to cover her ears and reel back from the sound, and then it sharply cut off and went silent. She pulled her knees closer and shut her eyes tighter, anticipating what could come next.

In the silence a running ooze dripped onto her bare arms, causing her to tighten and tremble in horror. She tolerated the sickening slime falling on her the best she could until she could bear it no longer. She opened her eyes, prepared to scream out in fear, only to be confronted by nothing. Only blackness. Even the luminescent speckles that lined the walls had gone dim.

Slowly she reached out and groped the space in front of her only to find emptiness. Hurriedly she crawled forward as quickly as she could, in search of an exit.

And it started all over again. THRUMPH, THRUMPH, THRUMPH.

Marooned

He woke to the clucking of a rooster, pecking the dry dirt around him in search of anything edible that could be found in this barren wasteland. He sat up slowly, pushing up with his arms behind him, his entire body aching. His wrists were sore and worn raw, a rope still knotted around his right. His head was pounding, no real recollection how he got here. Looking around at the vastness spread before him, he masseaged his neck, while working out where exactly he might be. He untied the rope from his right wrist, letting it fall next to him, and grimaced in pain.

Sitting on the hard earth, he took stock of his condition. Thankfully he was left clothed or the sun here could’ve killed him before anything else. His jeans had new holes in them but what is he do about that? At least he was left his boots and they seemed to be in fair shape. He had no hat and no water and there wasn’t any shade visible, much less any outline of a town on the horizon.

He mustered the will and pushed himself up to his feet, sending spears of pain shooting through his body. He cried out as he steadied himself and doubled over. Short of air and bearing the pain the best he could, he stayed hunched over to catch his breath. In that position, he saw, at his feet, tire tracks that continued off into the distance.

He knew what he needed to do now. He bent over, picked up the rope and pocketed it. He backtracked a few steps and scooped up the rooster to bring along. In this manner he began to limp in the direction of the tracks, cock held close. For walking was the only thing left for him to do.

The Old Metropole

Yeah, you know, down at tha ol’ Metropole. Probly about three months before they shut tha joint down. No, Shirley wasn’t ’round. There was me, Bobby, Jay, ol’ Schwartz & his gal, and Tommy. A real swingin’ night. No, this was prior to the Rodney thing. It was that Rodney thing that brought them down, ya know. No, tha time I’m talkin’ bout wasn’t in tha open, like Rodney was. Never made news or nuttin’ either. We was all sittin’, jokin’ round. Schwartz & his gal were dancin’. Boy you shoulda seen tha dance floor – like sardines in a can. Everyone was toasty, but thats what tha good ol’ Metropole was known for. Drinks-a-plenty. Girls too. Any who, Jay was gabbin’ on about sum place in the war and that’s when I first saw him. Out tha corner of my eye, sumpthin caught my attention. Mighta been tha girl that got up to leave his table. Another gal then joined him, dressed head to toe in black and one-a-them wide-brimmed hats, not very fashionable but it hid her face. They didn’t even say one word to each other, which struck me as odd. Just sat there and stared as if they already knew the other’s thoughts. I kept watchin’ them, Jay jabberin’ in the background. He later stood up, you know, ready to leave. And thats when she drew on him and quick as spit – CLACK CLACK CLACK, put three slugs in him. No, no one heard no shots with tha roar of tha band and all. He slumped down into that booth and like that she turned and walked out. Yeah, I’m certain I didn’t see her face. Nah, I just turned back to tha boys and carried on with tha night. It was a memorable night I tell ya.

Override

Blurred lights and buildings streaked by as they flew through the dark night. He had to tap into the car’s mainframe, rewrite a few lines, and leave his signature code, in order to produce this kind of speed. She wasn’t impressed though. Said she could replicate that code in her sleep. He’s never seen anyone else do it before though and frankly hasn’t seen another car achieve the lightning speed his cars can. Sure, it was common enough for people to access and edit small things here and there. Kids love to reprogram the cabin lights to flash and move and shift colors in beat with the music. Little things like that to impress girls. But the depth he had to reach and the layers upon layers of firewalls and safety enforcement code he had to pierce is unheard of. Just to transport people quickly. The jobs were usually get-aways and he was paid well for them. What they were getting away from, he would never ask. His job was to find a car, program the quickest and lightest traffic route from extraction to drop off, and make that car go ungodly fast.

He let her indifference roll right off. He had a job to do and he was doing it well. They sat across the open cab from each other, him staring out into the night. There was no real need for him to be there. It was an additional service he offered and most liked to pay top dollar for him to be present. It set their minds at ease. If something went wrong, he would be there to override and reprogram and get things working again. But nothing ever goes wrong.

Part 1…

Let us not so easily discount the oh so valiant effort by Reinardo de la Rosa. His attempt at fame and good fortune will never see itself in the history books. It will never be told by mothers as they tuck their children in at night. It has never been featured on the front page or any page after. His tale won’t ever be told, if we don’t do so now.

You see, Reinardo was a common man, not unlike you. He held his daily routines with great discipline and repitition and hardly strayed to the new or unknown. To the adventurour, his life would seem dull. To Reinardo it was perfect. Ideal.

His days would begin early, putting the coffee on the stove, wrap a concha, and see to his daily hygiene. A kiss on his sleeping wife’s forehead would signal his departure. With coffee and pastry in hand he would venture from hs humble home to the docks. Every day the same. The only change to those mornings could b the weather. But the weather this day would offer no sign as to its significance.

Let us make clear that he did not set out on this day to alter his future. Reinardo was perfectly content with his life, as he should be. He had a kind wife, two well-fed children, and the fish were plentiful. Yet there, at the docks, is where his routine and the course of the rest of his life would be turned on its head.

Campaign Trail

Everything you can imagine was getting hurled at him. From the cliche and expected, like tomatoes, shoes, and beer bottles, to the hunger inducing and original, like the half-way-unwrapped-ready-to-grab-with-one-hand-and-take-a-bite-out-of McDonalds cheeseburger that grazed his lips as it floated by his face, the distinct smell of highly processed seared cow flesh left lingering in his nostrils.

There wasn’t much need to duck or dodge all the missiles flung his way. Most people were terrible aims and he was set back a fair distance from the crowd. Rubbish though piled up around his feet and debris grew higher and higher. Attendants came to these things prepared. He once saw someone wheeling in a wheel barrel overflowing with whatever the cart pusher has discarded. Another person once drug in a municipal issued trash bin, full of a wide variety of rotting and decaying waste from the previous week.

Some, though, do come just to listen and learn, though they are far and few between. The high majority already know where they stand and it is their patriotic duty to heckle and distract.

These events are a prime example of the state of the union. Garbage piling up everywhere. Single-minded individuals up in arms about things they haven’t even taken the time to think about. Pure chaos really. But this is now part of the process if he wants to make a change and help things to improve. He chose this path for himself and he intends to do all he can as he runs against the incumbent for the title of leader of the free world.

Internal Overlords

“Growing up my father would always say ‘You’ve got to risk it, for the biscuit.’ Frankly, I’ve never understood it. Nor have I ever tasted a biscuit that is worth any level of risk. Nor would I indulge in a biscuit if risk wasn’t even involved, because I’m living that gluten-free life. Yessir. Cauliflower crusts and almond flour dough for me.

“Your brain is directly connected to and informed by your gut – so they tell me. All those billions and billions of bacteria, living and thriving down there. That is what really controls us. We are just the vessel for their every desire. Slaves to their bacterial will. Whole cities of microorganisms that retain full control of their human counterparts.

“Think about it the next time you speak to someone who is hangry, or in any mood for that matter. It’s just the mood of their internal overlords. The state of their symbiotic microscopic society.

“I sound crazy? Well you are looking at me like I am out of my mind. Well clearly its not even my mind. Pay attention. You’ll see. You think your thoughts are your own? I think not. More like the consensus of your governing micro-bodies.

“So you see why I dare not risk, at any level without gut approval. Risk, they say should only be calculated and controlled. Do you now understand the importance of following your gut instinct? Billions of tiny bacterial brains already provided you the decision to your dilemma. Treat your gut well and they will never steer you wrong.

“That’s why I would much rather risk it for a gluten-free rice flour scone, or a coconut flour coconut sugar cookie or, yes, a gluten-free biscuit will do fine. Yeah that could be worth a risk. Metered and controlled risk of course.”

The Gift

Who’s the first to cross over? It sure as hell isn’t me. I’ll let those dumb sons of bitches be the ones to test the border, with their enthusiasm and dreams of glory and discovery. I’m perfectly content with my dreams of waking up to another pot of coffee tomorrow.

I am damn far back in line and don’t have the best view up ahead. nobody has started running in the opposite direction yet, or screamed bloody murder for that matter. All good signs. Still, we are all anxious, especially me. Its a suspicious thing after all, when this pocket -no more like a bubble because you can see the curvature of its barrier- of pure, breathable air suddenly appears just miles outside of many highly populated areas around the world. All these bubbles are somehow fully protected from the exhaust and smog and smoke that fills the surrounding atmosphere. None of the outside air passes through but objects of higher density can pass right through the bubble like stepping through a doorway.

What a gift right? Breathable air when these black skies are all we’ve ever known? Yet every metropolis, including this one, has been too paranoid to investigate until now. I am less than enthusiastic to report we were selected by the powers that be to be the first expedition to explore a one of these. I mean, yeah, the thought of taking this damn thing off and being able to inhale is an interesting one. But all I can imagine is the horror movie scenario on the other side. These things never end well. I’m just fine with my respirator and my smoggles, thank you very much. But here I am, with no real choice in the matter, and will be on the other side soon.

Ashes to Aggregate

If you stroll down this quiet street, continue past the market, through the Visceral Arts District, speed through the Razor’s Edge District without making eye contact or stopping for conversation, feel your way through the smoggy combustion zone, and just a little bit further to The Dominos – those vertical slums that never should have been – you will come to an alleyway that looks different and feels different and smells ever so slightly better, as far as alleys go. Wiggle your way through the skinny sections of the alley, taking caution not to alert any alleyway inhabitants of your presence. After some time you will come to an opening – a clearing is more how it feels. You will know it when you get there. The sky will feel open and vast like the desert’s and very much unlike any sky you have seen in this city. There you will find the building you seek. A building encapsulated in time and framed in by the dense city blocks that have grown up around it. It remains unchanged and forever vacant, save for its sole eternal occupant. He is the reason the building remains just so. None dare touch or enter the place he had himself entombed so many years past. His last building. His final orders. He now lives forever there in those concrete walls. Ashes turned to aggregate. Component and whole of a structure to last into eternity. Forever unchanging amongst a city always moving on without any hesitation or care for his existence.

Systems Down

Blood ran down his face and blinded his eyes. Blood mixed with sweat, that stung as he tried to wipe his sight clear. The lights flickered in the cabin to the rhythm of the alarm bursts. The cockpit window was smeared with what seemed to be mud or sludge. The view out obscured.

He looked around at his surroundings and groaned. Just the mere movement sent a wave of pain shuttering through his body. Something internal, he thought.

Upon first inspection, the entire crew was missing. Was he left, presumed dead? How could that be? He has no recollection of blacking out. He remembers the whole series of events leading up to the crash. Everything up to this moment.

As he struggles to unbuckle his harness he sees blood smeared across the floor. The gruesome trails lead to the cabin exit, yet the cabin exit remained closed.

His mind and body wanted to shift into a panic, but he knows he can’t afford to. Not until he has a better understanding of what is going on. He tries to clear the cockpit windshield to get a feel for where he is. The wipers aren’t functioning. All systems are down.

He tries the exit door. Its jammed or blocked from the outside. Leaning against the exit door, he can feel that there is something out there. He can hear it too. A calm steady tap, tap, tapping. Hurriedly he tries to open the weapons vault. The tapping is getting louder and stronger. He fights with the vault code. Scrambles to get it open. The electronic lock release has malfunctioned.

The tapping is turning into a banging now. With no defense, nor knowledge of what approaches, he sits back, facing the exit. Waiting to meet what is on the other end.