Toilet Papering

Two bright eyed young friends crouched behind a darkly lit shrub. A nervous waft tickled their thin legs and chilled their exposed arms. The night air was fresh and cooling. From behind the bush they could see their shadowed target. It would be a quick but aggressive hit. Their arms were filled with ammo and the car was near with more reserves. They looked at each other and smiled.

To this day, these two friends are not sure which one of them first suggested that they wear dresses to this toilet papering revelry but both admit that it was a very impulsive move. They had gone over to Pauline Coleman’s dilapidated poolroom and stolen the dresses to wear as disguises while they toilet papered the McRae’s house. Possible the disguises were suggested because the house was located on two main streets, Highway 191 and 20th street. Or maybe it was because of the severity of the toilet papering they planned. What ever the case, the two sat hidden in the night in 1950’s flower dresses.

Suddenly they sprung from their secluded sepulture and began their juvenile art. In the back yard, they flung toilet paper roles high into the trees allowing them to catch on branches and fall again, making a beautifully draped display. Like a gigantic wedding cake flowing in a gorgeous random pattern. Soon all the trees and ground were covered like a wonderful white Christmas.

Both friends ran back to the car and started dragging garbage bags of shredded confetti, there were 11 in total. The true touch of the master’s hand. The confetti was thinly spread across the entire back yard, completing the snowy scene. As they looked at their beautiful art, they realized there was one thing missing. They both ran back to the car and grabbed two boxes of tissues. This was the final touch on what would become the greatest toilet papering job ever to occur in Safford.

The two glided across the lawn like ballerinas in their master performance, lightly throwing tissue from side to side. The tissues floated reverently down to the ground. They landed gently on the confetti covered ground and like thieves in the night the two friends sought the breast of silence and were suckled by the night.

Chapter Four: Win

Chapter Four: Win

Edwin’s room was musty and worn. The tile floor was smooth and discolored in areas that had seen heavy traffic over the years. His bed was immaculately made and his dresser was covered with varies computer parts, a digital frame, digital business cards and receipt calculators. The business cards and receipt calculators were off, but the digital frame flashed between 3 pictures.

One was of Edwin and his sister, Michelle, on Santa Monica pier. Their backs were facing the camera and a beautiful sunset was casing the horizon. The sunset’s profound yellow, red and gold are flashed across the picture in an amazing blend. The side of Edwin’s face was just caught in the glow of the sunset. His tough face was contemplative and his eyes were closed. His long brown hair was pulled back behind his ears. Michelle’s slender figure was a silhouette in front of the peaceful sunset. Her long hair fell down the middle of her back, curling and twisting now and then.

The next picture was of the Bradshaw family. Edwin, Michelle and young James sat on the ground in front of their parents; Doug and Stacy Bradshaw. The family looked young. It was obvious that the picture was years old because the digital quality was worn. Edwin was about 14, Michelle 12 and James 8. Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw wore the conservative styles of the time; a white long sleeve shirt and a long sleeve plain patterned dress. The three kids were also very conservative; blue jeans and tee-shirts with short parted hair for the boys and a long dress with hair pulled back for Michelle. All 5 of them had forced smiles.

The last picture was of a lake with a mountain and the sky in the back ground. The mountain was very dark and masked half of the lake with its reflection. The sky had a thin layer of clouds covering the bright blue. Along the edge of the mountain was the sun just fading out of view. The small part of the sun that was left was flashing boldly into the sky making the blue that shone through the clouds even more brilliant. And on the water the mystic scene was mirrored.

In a dark corner was a conglomerate of desks, computer hardware and wires. The wires were strung like Christmas lights; rudely taped to the ceiling, walls and floor. The desk top was clear except for two thin mechanical rods that stuck 3 feet in the air and were 5 feet apart. Hovering in the center between the rods was a white apple with one bit taken out of it. A dull humming filled the air and little green and red lights flashed on and off randomly in the dark corner.

Perhaps the most unusual aspect of Edwin Bradshaw’s room was the number of books he had. Hundreds of books filled dozens of small book cases. Titles like; How to Win in the Modern Industry, Success and How to Name it, Successful Titles. There was an entire series of books by J. J. Truman all titled similarly; Ethics; The Anchor of Success, Customer Service; The Anchor of Success, Work Ethic; The Anchor of Success and so on, naming every aspect of success as its anchor. There was only one visible book on anything but business, The Holy Bible; Free Market Reform Version 2023. It sat next to the bed on a night stand.

The room was dimly lit by a window that faced the east. A dry light came in through the window signifying that the sun would soon be coming up. The Seattle skyline was a great tumult of varying skyscrapers. The Space Needle that had once been a pillar towering above the miniature buildings of down town Seattle was now buried like a sapling among giant red woods. The view from Bradshaw Towers, on Bainbridge Island was always beautiful. Mount Rainer rose to the south of the city and the Cascades in the north. Edwin’s parents had always wondered why he wanted to live in the tower but when the sun came up over Seattle, there was no question to Edwin. However, it had been a long time since he had sat and watched the sunrise.

The door suddenly flew open and Edwin walked him. His brown hair was long and surprisingly curly. It made him look older then 28. He wore a thick black coat over a thin plain green shirt and a pair of brown khakis. A gray scarf hung loosely around his neck. He was not tall, but you couldn’t consider him short either. A dignified 5’ 10”, he would respond when asked about his height. His face was calm and his eyes stared straight forward. The room was silent and Edwin seemed to be waiting for something.

“Just get Jacob what he needs.” Then the room was silent again.

“No” Edwin’s eyes stared straight head of him as if he was looking at something.

“No! I told you. I appreciate your feedback, but I don’t have time to calculate the cost and it wouldn’t matter in the end anyway. So just get the damn computers.” His eyes never flinched.

“Okay” and the call was over.

Edwin pulled a small lobe phone out of his ear and through it on the dresser. He closed his eyes hard while putting his thumb and index figure deep into his eye sockets then squeezing towards the bridge of his nose. When he was done, two small bowl shaped contact lens sat on his fingers. They were transparent but you could see little flares of activity on their inner bowl. Edwin tossed both of the lens in the trash and through himself on the bed. He was only there for a second when he jumped up like he had forgotten to do something and went to his computer.

As soon as he sat in his chair the area between the rods lit up and a number of varying sub screens were in front of him. He put his thumb, index and middle fingers on little sticky pads and began to navigate the screen. His three fingers moved wildly along the desk top. He would spend seconds looking over articles and then dismiss them. His eyes torn tirelessly over, financial statements, marketing proposals, production memorandums and customer service matrix. It was said around Bradshaw Corp. that once Edwin read something, he never forgot it. Edwin would always smile and disagree. He never told people that most of the jargon Bradshaw’s executives sent him was meaningless and figured as long as Bradshaw’s stock continued to rise, no one would care.

In the middle of another useless memo from Brandon Welsh on Executive Holidays, a small devise in Edwin’s pocket vibrated. He pulled out his PDA and saw that he had a text.

“Michelle: I’ll be in town tomorrow. You up for lunch?” Edwin smiled softly and placed the PDA on the desk top syncing it with his computer.

His fingers worked quickly to type, “Edwin: Don’t you ever call?”

Within seconds he had a response, “Michelle: Win! I’d call, but you never have your lens on. And we both know you don’t ever have time to talk.” Michelle was about the only person who called Edwin “Win” anymore. It had been a nickname when he was younger. Edwin secretly liked the name, but no one dared call him anything but Mr. Bradshaw or Sir these days.

“Edwin: Okay, okay, lunch then? You call it.”

“Michelle: Roccos, 1:30… And don’t tell me you don’t have time… You make time for the things you want!”

“Edwin: I’ll be there.” Edwin left his PDA synced to his computer, but the conversation didn’t continue.

Quickly Edwin finished his reports. He walked to one of his book shelves and pulled a couple of books out dropping them on the bed. Reached his hand up to his elbow back into the shelf, he pulled out a single white book. He felt it in his hand and considered it with his finger. He flipped through a couple pages and walked to the window. He saw the sun peeking over Seattle in the distance. The white caps on Mount Rainer were bright in the morning sun. The sun lit Edwin’s face, he didn’t look tired. He was calm. “I haven’t seen the sun rise in a long time, I miss it” he thought. A half smile crept onto his lips and he looked down at the aged book in his hands. In bright red letters across the top it read, 1984.

Libre

A couple of years ago my sisters and I started a writing prject together, we would pick different subjects and write little stories or essays about them. It only lasted a couple of weeks, but some really great writing came out of it. Here is one of those. This particular short story was inspired by the photo, the ideas was to get a random photo and start writing about it. This one came from my friend Michael Wiltbank's collection. And this is the story it inspired.

Libre

a short story by Preston Smith

Etulia clung to thick metallic chains that hung around Sourire De Grand-Papa’s neck. She and Sourire De Grand-Papa had been friends from the beginning of their journey. They didn’t speak the same language. Sourire was from Togo, a sliver of a land between Ghana and Benin. Etulia didn’t know anything about Togo; all she knew was that Sourire De Grand-Papa had been kind to her on the boat. He was the only friend she had known besides Libre, her Cheetah. Sourire had very dark skin as apposed to Etulia’s light milky dark skin. When Etulia first came on the boat, lost and disoriented, Sourire took her by the hand and crouched down to her level and smiled, his white teeth were beautiful to Etulia and she felt safe with him. Soon she began to call him Sourire, or Smile in her native tongue, French.

The boat was rancid with sweaty bodies. Malnutrition plagued the boats occupants. The wood floor was slippery from human bile and vomit. The bread that was given to the occupants was often to rank to eat and the people would use it to calm the slippery floor. Later they would gladly take all the bile and vomit infested floors for one morsel of rotten bread. Adults like Sourire were chained to one another, but the children were not. Everyone was naked. Etulia got use to feeling tired and hungry; her stomach soon ballooned out giving her a little pop belly. It didn’t bother her but then she didn’t know it was the onset of malnutrition. Sourire knew too well what it meant; he had lost two children to starvation and knew it was only a matter of time for Etulia. But he would only continue smiling at her, knowing there was nothing he could do.

One day, 4 weeks into the journey, Etulia became disoriented in the mass of sweaty bodies. Sourire found her body curled in a dark corner barely alive. He pulled her clear of the throng and held her near his warm body. He began to cry and the tears fell on Etulia’s face. Her weak eyes opened and she looked up into her friends smiling face. She smiled softly and closed her eyes again. Sourire held her tight. He saw his daughter and wife back in Togo struggling to survive without him. Their dark faces looked sad and feeble. He continued to cry.

Etulia’s breath got weaker and weaker. Her pot belly rose and fell gently under Sourire’s hand. Etulia saw herself lying on her back in the desert. The warm sun danced on her naked body. She stood up and squinted in the bright sun. In the distance she could see an object moving quickly towards her. Under her breath, Sourire heard her say Libre over and over again. Unable to understand, he spoke the word out loud. Soon someone next to him was saying Libre, and then another and then another. Before long the entire group was yelling Libre! Libre! Libre! Free! Free! Free!

Chapter Three: Conversation

Chapter Three: Conversation

Building 772-232 quivered with commotion; its steel frame stood magnanimous in the core of the city. It was surrounded by lesser buildings that reached gallantly for its supremacy but failed like younger brothers often do. The casing of the building was glass and glowed dully in the masked sky. It had 198 occupation floors that consisted of 75 rooms on each floor, totaling 14,850 rooms and as many occupants. Each building was self containing; there was enough work for all occupants to have an equal share, no one worked harder, no one worked less than any other. There was a cafeteria, entertainment hall, theater and everything else needed to keep people inside. Truth be told, not many people ever left their building. Of course there was no law against leaving, but one needed to be careful when venturing out into the city.

Not even the city workers, who traveled nervously out into the city to labor, were comfortable. In fact, it had been decided that out door city workers would be able to retire 10 years earlier then building workers, for the very fact that is was considered a harder job.

Dark streets, infected with nauseous silence, crept around the city during the day. Encased by huge buildings; even when the sky had burned with a beautiful blue, you could barely see it.

Though it was unpleasant, occasionally it was necessary to travel to a location other than your building. On these rare occasions, one either used the underground, or took the air transit. Either way, it was easy to avoid the streets.

From Lake Michigan raged the ancient wind that gave Chicago its previous name: Windy City. The water slapped against the crumbling concrete walls and buildings that lined the shores of the lake. Reinforcements had been applied where a new barrier should have been erected, but they were gone now and the cold water was winning the battle. In some areas, the water’s fury brought it over the side of the waterfront, in these regions the street was wore and emendable.

A melodic rain fell on the city, casing the streets with blackness. From inside building 772-232, you could watch the weary rain drops weave a cool path, skipping from one path to another, building momentum as smaller weaker rain drops were devoured by larger drops. Eventually, the path would run its somnolent course and disappear into nothing.

“How long have I been staring?” wondered 22914. He moved his eyes from the glass wall and about the silent room. “It’s just a bit a’ water.” he told himself. His brave eyes fell on the water again. Instead of seeing paths of water, this time he saw specs of water randomly spread over the breast of the window. A vague reflection bounced back to 22914. He stood evenly gazing back at himself. Over his shoulder was a white strap attached to a gunny sack that hung around his left hip. The sack bulged a little and made a plastic titter when he walked. He wore thin white pants and a white V-neck shirt that exposed the upper part of his chest. The sleeves fell right at his elbow, so they bothered him every time he moved his arms. His hair was randomly placed, there seemed to be a little order on the sides but the top was very avant-garde. The standard length was 2 inches on the top and 1 inch on the side, but there were no specification for style, so 22914 was liberal with his hair. The Theology for Personal Grooming Department had warned him not to draw attention to himself. 22914 ignored them all the same.

Again 22914 caught himself staring. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses. The ear pieces were a metallic black and attached to a clear glass lens that wrapped around the front of his face. There was a clear plastic piece on the front that fit gently on 22914’s nose. Once the glasses were in place, 22914 tapped his ear and the scene before him was deluded with the UWN (United Wed Network).

“Done with work? Go see the new movie, ‘Why are you so Quiet’. This thriller follows young 10113 as he discovers how boring it is to…” 22914 blurted, “Games… United Vs West… Field Combat… Yes…” At this he walked away from his reflection and the rainy window. He hated the noise, but found himself getting into trouble when he sat in silence. His eyes had no problem both walking and playing the game. It had been a technique drilled into his head as a student in sleep theology.

Quickly he walked to the night stand and reached into the sack at his hip. He took one green pill out of his sack and placed it on the stand next to the glass of water. By the time he had gone to the next room and delivered the pill, he was already on level two of United vs West. Room after room he entered and placed the solemn little pill on the night stand. He didn’t think of anything, but his task and the game. Every so often, someone would be in their room. 22914 would either be ignored or the person would hale him with, “Hello brother.” Or “Thanks brother.” However, most rooms were empty.

Four floors went by and 22914 was making fantastic advances on the game. He was now on level 15 and in an all out nuclear war against The West. He would whisper his commands to his glasses, “Launch on the count of 3, 3… 2… 1.” And missiles would fire in front of his eyes and immediately he would see a full diagram charting his successes and casualties. He was gaining great advantages in the Western Baja and the Western Pacific, but some how he had lost a large portion of land east of Kansas City and Winnipeg. The West had captured Minneapolis and was on the brink of capturing the waters of Lake Superior. These stats flashed elusively before him; interchanging with the white monotonous halls and rooms. The translucent war went on. He backed his troops to the border and slowly began to recapture his lost territory.

i think we're in

Came blinking distractingly in the left corner of the screen.

LOL i did it

Flashed underneath the first

Distracted, 22914 began to loose ground again. “Remove all programs to backup.” He whispered and the comments disappeared. He resumed his game. In a matter of second the comments were back.

what do i say

um… are we even in its vison

ya its just not doing anything… i think it tried to remove us… u say something

u say it tolking to them crepts me a litle

hey number how do u like getting ur ass wiped for u

lol lol lol lol

lol… seen the sun in a year number

22914 was staggered. He had completely forgotten about the game, and didn’t care. He quickly blurted, “Screen… Virus… Code Omega… Source… Now” A small red screen flew into the left corner and latched itself onto the box with the comments.

hey did you see that

yeah… i think we better go

30 more seconds… whyd ud harass it… we dont get paid wtihhut 2 minutes of conectin

The green bar in the corner of the red screen was flashing wildly; counting, 28… 29… 27… 26. 22914 saw nothing else. He stared at the digital dialog in the corner. “It’s probably a test of some system” he hopefully thought. Still he needed to go through protocol other wise his system would be replaced and that could take weeks. Weeks using an old XXERO21 would be too much; so he resolved to solve the problem that moment. 20… 21

15 more

how much are we getting off this one

10

lol… youre so tight… what the hell is it going to do report us

DISCONNECT IN 5… 4

Then the dialog was gone and the virus screen flashed, “NO VIRUS DETECTED, NO VIRUS DETECTED”

22914 suddenly saw past the screen and into the eyes of two women staring at him. They had been walking down the hall when they saw him staring blankly at his screen. At first they thought he was just finishing a game; generally people stop at the end of a game to enjoy the victory. But when he didn’t speak, only stared, they began to wonder.

Quickly he shouted, “Launch… Mexico City and Honolulu… Now.” But he had spoken too loud and had sounded fake. He smiled feebly and walked past them mid smirks and whispers. At least they only thought he couldn’t handle translucent walking. That was better then knowing what had really happened, he wasn’t really sure if he believed it. He hadn’t understood most of the dialog. He didn’t want to think about it. He tapped his ear twice and said “Movies… Sort by Genre… Noisy… Newest… No.” and the latest noisy film flashed in front of 22914’s eyes and meaningless noise pounded in his ears.

Soon he was gliding from room to room and hall to hall placing pill after pill. The dialog soon became a faint memory stored in the back of 22914’s mind. He screened his glasses 4 more times and found nothing. It was a test and he had passed, he proudly thought. Though in the back of his mind he knew it was not a test. He hoped he would never find out what it meant, or what it was.

Chapter Two: 11 - 5 - 12

Chapter Two: 11 - 5 - 12

Beep… Beep… Beep…

A hand abruptly reached out… Beep… and turned off the alarm. The hand grabbed the little white pill while another hand reached for the glass of water. Both hands worked simultaneously to throw the pill to the back of the mouth and down the water in one effort. 2:30 and 4 second with out fail, every morning for as long as 22914 could remember. He wasn’t quite sure why he only let his alarm ring for 4 seconds instead of the usual ten minutes of ringing that was allowed. His section leader had asked him once why he didn’t sleep the extra ten minutes. 22914 would simply say that he thought it was a waste of good conscious silence.

22914 was now standing at the side of his bed. He wore a simple pair of thin white pants and nothing on top. Most of the Omega Birth were 5’10”. However, 22914 was noticeably taller, though his record stated that he was 5’10”. Maybe it was his strong stature, or maybe the way he walked as if he knew something that no one else did. His body was strong but tempered; his broad shoulders seemed to carry the whole of him. He had a slight bounce in his first step, and then he coolly glided from place to place.

Quickly he walked to the glass wall at the east end of his room and looked out over Chicago. His eyes rested on a building two miles across town, close to the lake front. It was taller then most of the buildings that surrounded it; a sentinel for the rest to bow too. His building, 772-232, was one of the tallest buildings in central Chicago; it was about the first build after the social community reform act pre-omega. There were bigger buildings in West Chicago, but they had been built post-omega.

He lowered his eyes to the dark streets below. 57, 8 foot floors down was a cave of avenues, winding monotonously in square patterns over endless grids of metropolis. The streets were empty, but he could see some of the flicking neon lights in the darkness, every now and then one would go out.

22914 closed his dauntless eyes and gently tilted his head back. He took a deep relaxing breath in through his nose, drawing his shoulders back and his chest out. When he opened his eyes he was looking up at the murky sky. He could see the pale hint of the sun behind the ominous obscurity. Half of his mouth smiled satirically and his eyes returned to the building across the city. He squinted to see the symbol that was flashing on the side of the building. “Numerology”, he thought.

A little static slipped on the clear pin in 22914’s ear and then noise flew back into his ear drums and on to his conscious mind. “Good Morning, How did you sleep, 2-2-9-1-4?” 22914 wondered if anyone actually answered the plastic voice that came every morning, but then he laughed knowing that for most people it was a crime not to answer. He turned abruptly and walked out the door into the white thin hall way.

Men were entering the hallway from both sides, heading to the south end of the building. They were all about the same height, give or take a centimeter here and there. 22914 followed in suit and ended at the queue to enter the shower.

“Think it will be a nice day brother?” asked 7515 from behind.

Without turning, 22914 answered, “I’m not sure. Think I saw the sun.”

“No!” 7515 said in disbelief, “I haven’t seen the sun in 4 years. Suppose, there’s been a delay in production?”

“No, I think I just caught the tale end of it. I’m sure nothing has changed”

22914 was bored with 7515’s questions and inability to grasp what seemed clear to him. Still, 7515 went on.

“How is the department of sleep theology?”

“Then he must bring up work!” thought 22914. Quickly he controlled himself and composed his thoughts. “I really enjoy it.” He said patiently.

“Wonderful!” 7515 said with a satisfied smile on his face.

“No one likes to hear the negative. No one likes to hear the negative. No one likes to hear the negative.” 22914 repeated in his mind as he slipped his pants off and put them into the waste basket.

The shower was always a little awkward for 22914. The primary means to conserve water was air and pressure in the showers. 22914 stepped naked in front of a tiled wall next to a thin pale looking creature. From three separate wall aperture, covering from head to foot, air shot wildly out accompanied by a small amount of scolding hot water and a green soap substance. After 30 seconds, both him and his pale colleague, walked to the far end of the shower and took one towel each.
At one time 22914 had known this astonishingly gaunt looking man. “What is it?” he thought as he dried himself. He looked intently at the man next to him. He was sure that this nameless man was at least an inch shorter then himself. “What is his name?” He passionately thought again. “This will kill me.” Mustering up the courage he reached out and touched the familiar stranger’s arm. He looked up quickly at 22914.
“I’m sorry brother,” then he hesitated and almost past the contact as mere coincidence, “bu… but what’s your name.”

“Not sure that it matters.” the man said coolly, and seeing that he had not satisfied 22914, went languishingly on. “It’s 11-5-12.”

“Yeah, thats it, but don’t you mean 1-1-5-1-2?” and he look curiously at the creature.

11512 didn’t look up, but 22914 saw a trace of a weak smile on 11512’s face, “Yeah, sorry. That is 1-1-5-1-2. ” and before 22914 had time to respond, 11512 was gone. A bit dumbfounded by the episode, 22914 walked out of the shower, leaving the towel on the ground for the department of toiletry theology to come and remove.

Chapter One: Morning

Finally after 2 years with out Windows accessories I am back into the real world with Windows Office. This might not seem to significant BUT it means I can access some old Word documents that I had written years ago. Included in this are 5 chapters of a book I started and will now be able to finish... as soon as I finishing writting Mindi's paper on Muhammad (actaully fun!) But in celebration of getting Windows back and of creative writting... I am going to post the first chapter of my Book: The Down Side of Absolutes. This is the tenative title and a tentative first chapter... but too my many readers, ENJOY!

Chapter One: Morning

The sun crept anxiously over the eastern water, silhouetted by the remarkable buildings or the west shore. Dancing sunbeams reflected off the glass casings in a beautiful ballet of illumination. The varied buildings were like crowds of tall, short and stout spectators for each building, playing off each others light; dancing back and forth like wild children. The magnetic masquerade tramped on. Crowded buildings grew brighter, as the day began. Until they glowed like great individual torches protruding from the sleeping city.

Clouds listlessly rolled over the city, not anxious to rain, or snow or even give shade for that matter; they were simply passing the time. Like the buildings, the clouds danced in the lazy blue sky. Underneath the clouds, the sun glided softly, tickling their bellies with incandescent colors. If anyone could have remembered things like cotton candy and fluffy down pillows, they probably would have compared them with the passing clouds. But no one notices the clouds anymore. However, clouds still billowed boldly in the brilliant sky and the sun danced off auspicious buildings.

The silence of the morning was mesmerizing; you could feel the fresh breath of the day taking in new life. Opportunity is almost as thick as butter in the morning; you can reach out and cut chance with a knife. There is a saying that no one remembered “The early bird catches the worm.” It had no meaning in Omega20025, for there were no birds that fluttered in the open, no worms at all and every one woke up at the same time. However, when it was first introduced in the late 1600s when language came about naturally, it meant, “Success comes to those who prepare well and put in effort” Here, since success was measured by the collective, everything was prepared for you and no effort was required, it was deemed use less. Though, it was still a true principal that those who prepared well and put in effort were successful.

Dust particles hovered graciously in the air of 22914’s room, magnified by the morning sun. They danced slowly, suspended like stars in the night sky. A glass wall faced the eastern sky, and the sun pored in, lighting the white room. The room was simple. Everything was stone white, white walls, sealing and floor. There were no pictures of family, or adventurous vacations, in fact there were no pictures at all, only a black symbol in the center of the Northern wall. The room was deeper then it was wide and far at the western end was a single bed. It stood about 12 inches off the ground and was the purest white imaginable.

The bed had one sheet on it for the room was neither cold nor hot. The sheet rapped peacefully around the bed’s occupant who slept quietly in the morning sun. His face was long and soft, patient and passionate, bold and meek. The sun burnt all the way to the back of the room, atop the bed and onto the face of 22914. His pink lips curved up at the ends and his thin cheeks matched his lips in structure. He seemed to be smiling, but one could never tell. His eyes moved violently behind their lids, up and down, side to side. One eye lips twitched and then relaxed. 22914 rhythmic breathing pounded on.

Next to the bed was the only other furniture in the room, a night stand. On the night stand were four items; a clock, a book, a glass of water and a white pill. The room was empty, other then these four items, the bed and the night stand. The dust that freckled the air did not last long enough to settle onto the floor or the bed. They would dissolved before they had a chance to rest.

The morning etched on, and the sun flew higher in the sky. Long shadows faded into slivers, small stumps of the once great majestic black clones that tore across streets and up the sides of buildings; shadows of trees that moments before towered over a hundred yards now hid under the leaves of their master. The clouds lost their magic and the dance of the sunbeams ended.

From the earth rose the terror of industry, like ravenous wolves devouring beauty. Its anger for the morning filled the sky with black, grey and brown. Hovering monotonously like a guilty conscious and asking no forgiveness. Then, as though it had never been there the sun was gone, lost behind the dark mirage. And the city grew dark with rage. Rage, because it had lost the sun. Rage because the dance was over. Rage, because it was cold and had forgotten the hope of the next day.

Now shadows consumed the city. Dark corners hid irate memories. The only light came from new crude bulbs that flickered in the darkness. The darkness obsessed over the light and took every opportunity to blot it out. Penitent city workers replaced the lights only to find that more had been mercilessly emptied by the darkness. Cold dark building that once had blazed proudly in the morning sun, now hung like cold beaten stone over the city.

22914’s room was stale and bitter with the darkness. The light had not changed anything, only tried to burn its memory. 22914’s clock read 2:29 TM, then clicked 2:30 TM and like all the clocks in Chicago, beeped.

Monsoon Season

Rain! Rain! Rain! The only salvation in these hot summers are the monsoons... so this is a little poem I wrote a couple of months ago. For some reason I have a problem with typing my poetry places... so this is the best I can do.