Behind a column of people she stood,
knuckles bleached from gripping her shopping cart,
a nervous bead of sweat formed on her brow;
Cecille was a patient woman, a devout Christian, a caring mother.
When her son told Santa he wanted Modern Warfare 3,
all that she knew of the subject was that she would have it.
As quickly as he could,
He lept between women, children, and even old farts,
Their anger for him meant nothing, for he could almost see it now.
Brent was a gamer, one of rare caliber; in his life he had met not another.
Since it was first announced, he thought not of another; Modern Warfare 3,
It was Black Friday today, and on this day he would have it.
They would have never met, had fate done as it should,
but another force was at work, practicing his art,
The Spirit of Black Friday was running amok, he was having a cow.
Dancing and weaving a quilt of hate, it the consumers that he sought to smother.
He watched and he waited, and found the thread to bind all together, Modern Warfare 3
There was a day to be won, and by devil, he would have it.
There was yet another that day, his name was Cassius Wood,
he was the manager, but tonight, he was a dart,
He'd seen it all before, but up until now,
there wasn't a sight he hadn't seen. Well, tonight was like no other,
She had struck with her right, while her left clutched none other than Modern Warfare 3,
The kid hit her back, yelling, "I had it first, you decrepit old bitch!"
That's when he stepped in, and did what he could,
Cecille's cousin Jacob jumped in to break them apart.
Surprised at who stepped in, she decided to back down,
Brent, too ceased, figuring he was her brother,
Then she did the unexpected and fled, fleeing with Modern Warfare 3!
Brent took off after her, knowing that one way or another, he would have it.
And when security stopped her, along with Mr. Wood,
she was taken off to jail, Black Friday had did his part.
and if you ask of yourself, every now and again, "what's wrong with this town?"
remember the Black Friday is there, seeking to smother,
there's always an X-Factor, and when it's Modern Warfare 3,
all hell will break loose, you should have reserved it.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Sunday, November 6, 2011
X and Vile
It stood proud and untouched, a single flower that had somehow escaped the flames of war until now. Those flames consumed the proud and humble alike, using those it consumed as fuel to spread itself to every corner of the earth it could find. A battle was taking place, one of many. Not the first, certainly not the last; it was an important one, however, and it's result set in motion a rivalry that would echo through the records of conflict for years to come.
"Vile," spoke X, a defiant fire in the reploid's eyes reflected throughout his resilient stance, "Are you fighting because you believe we're better than the humans who created us, or are you fighting for Sigma's cause?" X threw his words into a black hole, for the only other soul on that deserted stretch of highway seemed immune to X's words. The only thing X could do was wait for the man standing in his way, his enemy, to act.
---
There he stood in his former ally's path, an obstacle refusing subtlety, a man neither good nor evil. His name was Vile, a queller of fires by trade, just a somebody ordered to keep the peace from radical elements, but unlike his former comrade, Vile placed his own agendas before his orders. Months of insubordination and ruthless tactics on the battlefield earned him the nickname 'Vile' from within the Maverick Hunters, a name he was quite fond of. On the eve of his decommissioning from the hunters' ranks, he was given the opportunity to lead a new life by his commander and future leader of an emerging world order; Sigma, a man, a reploid like Vile and X, that believed in the superiority of the mechanical reploids over their human creators. Sigma instigated a rebellion from within the Maverick Hunters that quickly escalated into a full-scale war, rebellious reploids, Mavericks, battled the remnants of the Maverick Hunters, whose numbers fell by the day.
Vile, a reploid aligned with Sigma, and X, a reploid sworn to defend the helpless, human and machine alike, met once more in the midst of battle. The sword greeted the shield, Vile welcomed X, eager to quench his appetite of flames. He walked towards X, who readied his buster gun. Vile readied nothing, his undaunted march to where X stood didn't falter in the least; his gaze never straying from X's. Vile was closing the distance between him and X, who held his buster up to Vile's face. "Not one more step, Vile." He stopped walking, his gaze remained focused on X, "To answer your question, X, I follow no one."
"Then why, Vile? Why are you doing this? How many people have you killed so far?"
A chilling wind materialized from what could have been Vile himself, who stood there motionless, allowing the tension to build between like a bonfire between them before striking at the critical moment. "What reason do you have to defend those arrogant humans. All they've ever done for us reploids since we were created is belittle us, make us more like them. It's simply maddening living life as a human's, when we're capable of so much more." Vile, had he been any less of a man, would have given X the fight of his life at this point to prove his former ally wrong, but something in him had changed. Ever since Sigma granted him freedom that day, Vile had changed. No longer was the the reckless warmonger that spread war-fire with every step, he became cold, calculating, choosing rather to break his opponent's fighting spirit, than to crush his body, but he would make an exception if the time called for it.
"They say we're equal, they give us similar rights, but when it's a reploid committing a crime instead of a human, we're all held accountable. It was a "programming error" that all reploids Must possess," Vile paused to collect himself, "they say we're all broken, imperfect machines... They speak of us like we're monsters, X, but we're exactly the same as they are." X stood, stunned, "that's what Sigma wants to prove." The wind picked up as it swirled around the battlefield. X, struck by Vile's words like a punch to the chest, took no time in retaliating. "Vile, you and Sigma are wrong. As far as I'm concerned, you're both monsters, along with every reploid following along in his rebellion." Vile's failure to say anything back expressed his lack of impression through his opponent's words. "As Reploids, we're equal to humans in terms of our souls. We think, feel, and hurt exactly as they do." X paused, "but we're not the same as humans, that's why they fear us. Our bodies are capable of far more than theirs, you should know that more than anyone, Vile." He remained motionless. "As reploids, we have an obligation to show them we're capable of the same self-control they are. Only when we keep our power in check can we say we're equal to humans." Vile looked up from his cold posture, and the wind died down to a breeze.
X lowered his buster, and similarly loosened his stance, but only slightly. "I know what you're thinking, X. You want me to say that humans don't have the self-control you speak of so you can say that neither do I." Vile rose back into his posture and looked X straight in the eyes, "Sigma fears what you will become as the fighting drags on, he's offered to pay me handsomely for your head," X suddenly became serious again and lept backwards and aimed his buster at Vile, who just stood there and simply adjusted the angle of his neck to look at X before continuing, "but I don't intend to deliver." X aimed his buster at the open slots in Vile's venom-purple helmet, "what are you gonna to then?" X's open eye reflected a ray of sunlight as he looked at Vile down the barrell of his buster. "I want you to join me, X. You won't join Sigma, I know that much already, but what if I told you that once all of this business with Sigma's war settles down, there will be untold of opportunity for reploids like you and I."
X fired his buster gun, Vile snapped his neck to the left and dodged it by mere centimeters. "I expected that much from you," Vile scoffed, "what if I told you you could help countless numbers of people under Sigma's rule? You could be a hero, X. Let's face it, Sigma's going to win this thing anyways, why not be a savior to the people left afterwards? You and I could live a life of luxury, all we would have to do is take out the few stray mavericks keeping these people down, and when Sigma comes to put an end to us himself..." Vile's clenched fist tightened, "we'll crush him."
X took only a moment to think of the possibility. Strategically, the plan would allow for Sigma's forces to be whittled away little by little, and when he's slipped into a moment of arrogance, he would join forces with Vile and take him out. The plan was perfect... almost. "Vile, what of the humans and good reploids? If we run away now, many will be killed by Sigma. I couldn't bear that responsibility, knowing I could have saved them." X raised his buster once again, aiming at Vile's chest. Vile began his dreadful march again. "Don't be a fool, X. If you fight now, you're going to die and then nobody can save them. How does your conscience feel about that one?" Vile's voice carried with it a wisp of anger. "Humans and reploids will reproduce after Sigma dies and his regime crumbles. Facing Sigma now in the prime of his fury will only spell death to not only you, but hope as well." X was struck by Vile's words, his stance broke, his buster fell. "This plan gives the good people of the world the best chance of survival. I would make sure the plan succeeds because there's something in it for me as well, if you've forgotten so quickly." Vile stood proud in front of X, whose resolve was quickly failing. "Join me X, give these people a CHANCE to SURVIVE!" Vile extended his hand to X. "Do it for them, X." X looked up to Vile, then to his hand, and without speaking a word, started towards Vile's outstretched hand with his own. As he took X's hand in his own, Vile began to shake with laughter as he savored the moment. "Good choice, X. You are truly an intelligent man.
Before his victory could be celebrated, Vile let go of X and jumped away from where he stood. A blue mass of energy approached quickly, exploding at it struck the ground where Vile was once standing. "No, not now!" Vile faced the direction the energy shot came from and readied his shoulder cannon. "Where are you?" Vile scanned the area in front of him and found nothing. X looked around himself, wondering where the blast came from. The sound of somebody landing on the road behind them caught Vile's attention. "I've got you, Zero!" Vile turned around, but found nothing. X shuddered upon hearing Zero's name. "Zero? Commander of the 0 squad?" X caught a glimpse of a shadow covering Vile and looked up to find what he had dreaded at that moment. Zero, the second-highest ranking Maverick Hunter had arrived in the midst of their battle, but for what reason? The possibilities rushed through X's head, meanwhile, Zero landed perfectly behind Vile and struck Vile in the back with his own buster. "You're trying to sway my men, Vile?"
Vile's head snapped to the side to look at the man with a gun held to his back. "Z, Zero. You misunderstand, I was simply explaining to X how we could work together to bring Sigma down. In fact, if you let me repeat it to you, you might think it's a pretty good..." Vile was cut short as Zero pressed into his back, "Shut up and die, Vile." Reacting as lightning, Vile ducked to the right to escape, but Zero was too quick. Zero fired his buster, but it didn't strike Vile as he intended, he severed Vile's right arm at the shoulder, the remainder stumbling across the highway. "Dammit, Zero. You're going to pay for this with your life." Vile began stumbling towards the edge of the highway, his left arm covering the recently freed-space that was once his shoulder, sparks flying wildly. "That really smarts, Zero. I'll be sure to take your whole body with me the next time I see you." Vile stood dangerously close to the edge of the road and the seventy-foot drop on the other side of the barricade. He turned to X and nearly fell over the edge in the process. "We'll meet each other again, X. Count on it being soon." Vile removed his left arm from his damaged area and gripped the barricade behind him. Struggling to balance, he stood up straight and looked down at the pair of Maverick Hunters, "Farewell, for now." Vile lept backwards off the barricade and his eyes slipped behind the obstruction.
"Vile," spoke X, a defiant fire in the reploid's eyes reflected throughout his resilient stance, "Are you fighting because you believe we're better than the humans who created us, or are you fighting for Sigma's cause?" X threw his words into a black hole, for the only other soul on that deserted stretch of highway seemed immune to X's words. The only thing X could do was wait for the man standing in his way, his enemy, to act.
---
There he stood in his former ally's path, an obstacle refusing subtlety, a man neither good nor evil. His name was Vile, a queller of fires by trade, just a somebody ordered to keep the peace from radical elements, but unlike his former comrade, Vile placed his own agendas before his orders. Months of insubordination and ruthless tactics on the battlefield earned him the nickname 'Vile' from within the Maverick Hunters, a name he was quite fond of. On the eve of his decommissioning from the hunters' ranks, he was given the opportunity to lead a new life by his commander and future leader of an emerging world order; Sigma, a man, a reploid like Vile and X, that believed in the superiority of the mechanical reploids over their human creators. Sigma instigated a rebellion from within the Maverick Hunters that quickly escalated into a full-scale war, rebellious reploids, Mavericks, battled the remnants of the Maverick Hunters, whose numbers fell by the day.
Vile, a reploid aligned with Sigma, and X, a reploid sworn to defend the helpless, human and machine alike, met once more in the midst of battle. The sword greeted the shield, Vile welcomed X, eager to quench his appetite of flames. He walked towards X, who readied his buster gun. Vile readied nothing, his undaunted march to where X stood didn't falter in the least; his gaze never straying from X's. Vile was closing the distance between him and X, who held his buster up to Vile's face. "Not one more step, Vile." He stopped walking, his gaze remained focused on X, "To answer your question, X, I follow no one."
"Then why, Vile? Why are you doing this? How many people have you killed so far?"
A chilling wind materialized from what could have been Vile himself, who stood there motionless, allowing the tension to build between like a bonfire between them before striking at the critical moment. "What reason do you have to defend those arrogant humans. All they've ever done for us reploids since we were created is belittle us, make us more like them. It's simply maddening living life as a human's, when we're capable of so much more." Vile, had he been any less of a man, would have given X the fight of his life at this point to prove his former ally wrong, but something in him had changed. Ever since Sigma granted him freedom that day, Vile had changed. No longer was the the reckless warmonger that spread war-fire with every step, he became cold, calculating, choosing rather to break his opponent's fighting spirit, than to crush his body, but he would make an exception if the time called for it.
"They say we're equal, they give us similar rights, but when it's a reploid committing a crime instead of a human, we're all held accountable. It was a "programming error" that all reploids Must possess," Vile paused to collect himself, "they say we're all broken, imperfect machines... They speak of us like we're monsters, X, but we're exactly the same as they are." X stood, stunned, "that's what Sigma wants to prove." The wind picked up as it swirled around the battlefield. X, struck by Vile's words like a punch to the chest, took no time in retaliating. "Vile, you and Sigma are wrong. As far as I'm concerned, you're both monsters, along with every reploid following along in his rebellion." Vile's failure to say anything back expressed his lack of impression through his opponent's words. "As Reploids, we're equal to humans in terms of our souls. We think, feel, and hurt exactly as they do." X paused, "but we're not the same as humans, that's why they fear us. Our bodies are capable of far more than theirs, you should know that more than anyone, Vile." He remained motionless. "As reploids, we have an obligation to show them we're capable of the same self-control they are. Only when we keep our power in check can we say we're equal to humans." Vile looked up from his cold posture, and the wind died down to a breeze.
X lowered his buster, and similarly loosened his stance, but only slightly. "I know what you're thinking, X. You want me to say that humans don't have the self-control you speak of so you can say that neither do I." Vile rose back into his posture and looked X straight in the eyes, "Sigma fears what you will become as the fighting drags on, he's offered to pay me handsomely for your head," X suddenly became serious again and lept backwards and aimed his buster at Vile, who just stood there and simply adjusted the angle of his neck to look at X before continuing, "but I don't intend to deliver." X aimed his buster at the open slots in Vile's venom-purple helmet, "what are you gonna to then?" X's open eye reflected a ray of sunlight as he looked at Vile down the barrell of his buster. "I want you to join me, X. You won't join Sigma, I know that much already, but what if I told you that once all of this business with Sigma's war settles down, there will be untold of opportunity for reploids like you and I."
X fired his buster gun, Vile snapped his neck to the left and dodged it by mere centimeters. "I expected that much from you," Vile scoffed, "what if I told you you could help countless numbers of people under Sigma's rule? You could be a hero, X. Let's face it, Sigma's going to win this thing anyways, why not be a savior to the people left afterwards? You and I could live a life of luxury, all we would have to do is take out the few stray mavericks keeping these people down, and when Sigma comes to put an end to us himself..." Vile's clenched fist tightened, "we'll crush him."
X took only a moment to think of the possibility. Strategically, the plan would allow for Sigma's forces to be whittled away little by little, and when he's slipped into a moment of arrogance, he would join forces with Vile and take him out. The plan was perfect... almost. "Vile, what of the humans and good reploids? If we run away now, many will be killed by Sigma. I couldn't bear that responsibility, knowing I could have saved them." X raised his buster once again, aiming at Vile's chest. Vile began his dreadful march again. "Don't be a fool, X. If you fight now, you're going to die and then nobody can save them. How does your conscience feel about that one?" Vile's voice carried with it a wisp of anger. "Humans and reploids will reproduce after Sigma dies and his regime crumbles. Facing Sigma now in the prime of his fury will only spell death to not only you, but hope as well." X was struck by Vile's words, his stance broke, his buster fell. "This plan gives the good people of the world the best chance of survival. I would make sure the plan succeeds because there's something in it for me as well, if you've forgotten so quickly." Vile stood proud in front of X, whose resolve was quickly failing. "Join me X, give these people a CHANCE to SURVIVE!" Vile extended his hand to X. "Do it for them, X." X looked up to Vile, then to his hand, and without speaking a word, started towards Vile's outstretched hand with his own. As he took X's hand in his own, Vile began to shake with laughter as he savored the moment. "Good choice, X. You are truly an intelligent man.
Before his victory could be celebrated, Vile let go of X and jumped away from where he stood. A blue mass of energy approached quickly, exploding at it struck the ground where Vile was once standing. "No, not now!" Vile faced the direction the energy shot came from and readied his shoulder cannon. "Where are you?" Vile scanned the area in front of him and found nothing. X looked around himself, wondering where the blast came from. The sound of somebody landing on the road behind them caught Vile's attention. "I've got you, Zero!" Vile turned around, but found nothing. X shuddered upon hearing Zero's name. "Zero? Commander of the 0 squad?" X caught a glimpse of a shadow covering Vile and looked up to find what he had dreaded at that moment. Zero, the second-highest ranking Maverick Hunter had arrived in the midst of their battle, but for what reason? The possibilities rushed through X's head, meanwhile, Zero landed perfectly behind Vile and struck Vile in the back with his own buster. "You're trying to sway my men, Vile?"
Vile's head snapped to the side to look at the man with a gun held to his back. "Z, Zero. You misunderstand, I was simply explaining to X how we could work together to bring Sigma down. In fact, if you let me repeat it to you, you might think it's a pretty good..." Vile was cut short as Zero pressed into his back, "Shut up and die, Vile." Reacting as lightning, Vile ducked to the right to escape, but Zero was too quick. Zero fired his buster, but it didn't strike Vile as he intended, he severed Vile's right arm at the shoulder, the remainder stumbling across the highway. "Dammit, Zero. You're going to pay for this with your life." Vile began stumbling towards the edge of the highway, his left arm covering the recently freed-space that was once his shoulder, sparks flying wildly. "That really smarts, Zero. I'll be sure to take your whole body with me the next time I see you." Vile stood dangerously close to the edge of the road and the seventy-foot drop on the other side of the barricade. He turned to X and nearly fell over the edge in the process. "We'll meet each other again, X. Count on it being soon." Vile removed his left arm from his damaged area and gripped the barricade behind him. Struggling to balance, he stood up straight and looked down at the pair of Maverick Hunters, "Farewell, for now." Vile lept backwards off the barricade and his eyes slipped behind the obstruction.
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Saturday, November 5, 2011
Liberation: Chapter 3
The chill of the wind in the slash pines marked the season, November had begun to build a forward momentum and was trying its best to let everything from the migrating birds to the busier-than-normal residents of Kaylant, Florida breathe its energy. In this modest Florida city of 26,000, second jobs are commonplace, even among professionals, and unless you bring in six figures, your weekend wasn't spent at the beach, but at the local BP working a double. This Thursday afternoon heralded the beginning of a three-day weekend, and a spell of silence indented that vital first sentence of this particular working gear's weekend sabbatical.
"Uh..."
Dan stood in a trance, he had to make a careful choice. Brad was a friend, he wouldn't want to make a fool decision. Even if he did, it wouldn't make a big difference, but it would probably matter in some small, perhaps inconsequential way. But he used to do this too, he remembers what it was like. They were all so similar, yet the difference lies in subtlety. Which one? Which one?
"Which one, sir?" Inquired a man roughly eye-level with Dan. He was older, but his hardened gaze told Dan he'd been doing this for a very long time. Pulling himself together, Dan focused on the task at hand, put all of his energy into making the best decision not only for himself, but for his friend too. His mind flew through a cloud of possibility, breaking past all of the barriers, approaching the pinnacle of mentality where the truth waited for him to arrive. Closer, slower, the end was nigh, the train was coming to a stop. Dan peered out of the window, and saw the truth waiting for him like a child with a big red balloon. His mouth wet, his tongue extended, and he spoke...
"That one, above the grey and gold one." A nod accented the statement. "The 27s?" Inquired the clerk. Daniel looked at the package with a limited intensity, "uh huh." The clerk took a package of cigarettes from the rack and turned around, scanning the UPC. "$6.80, will that be cash or credit?" The clerk's eyes deflected from the computer screen to his customer, who pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket.
"Cash," Daniel's word coincided with the moment his middle and forefinger pinned the note to the counter top, he slid it to the clerk and grabbed his cigarettes. The clerk gave him his change and gestured kindly as left the convenience store. "Come again."
Outside, Dan stepped to the side of the door and examined the cigarettes. He unwrapped the cellophane and opened the top of the pack. He placed his thumb on the filter of a cigarette and pulled it upwards, but he stopped himself from taking the plunge. Pushing it back into the pack, Dan reminded himself that he gave that up. Cocking his head upwards, he quickly scanned the parking lot and walked around to the side of the convenience store to Brad's car. Dan was met with a flash of sunlight as he rounded the corner and walked around the back of the silver Outlook and homed in on passenger seat door.
Dan climbed in through the door and held the cigarettes up to his friend, "Here's your payment for coming to get me," Dan said in a contrived tone. Smiling a boyish grin Brad removed them from Dan's grasp with a slow, right hook-motion, "you've really quit haven't you?" Brad said to Dan, referencing the broken seal of cellophane and full pack of cigarettes. Dan looked over to his friend, "I've been keeping it that way, it's never been easy, you know." Brad nodded in compassion while Dan fastened his seat belt. Brad lit his cigarette with the car lighter, and took the first puff, "that's good, I'm happy to hear you're sticking with it," Brad stated as smoke rolled out of his nose and mouth. "Did you have enough in that joke-of-a-bank-account of yours?" Brad said as he chuckled to himself. Dan replied, self-assuredly, "Sure did." Dan reached for the cash in his pocket. "Once I get old Betty out of jail we're going out for a night on the town." A slowly-intensifying smile crept across Brad's face and he chimed in, "Old Betty huh? You have a date with another senior citizen? And she's a convict?" Dan sat there for a second before smirking and facing the window. "First of all, she wasn't over 55, second, you know I'm talking about my car, and third, it was an interview, not a date." Brad decided to muse himself a little, "all I'm saying is that if an attractive, recently-divorced editor of a nationally-recognized publication wanted to interview me at a four-star restaurant that's more than well-known for their champagne, age wouldn't make a difference at this point. Hell, we're old men practically." Dan rubbed his chin to hide a smile, "Age is a state of mind, my friend. If you feel you're better suited to prowling the nursing home, I've got your back," Dan responded without missing a beat. Brad sounded off with an accented "Fuuuck you," before starting the engine of his proud locomotive. He backed around the corner of the convenience store, causing apparent concern for a couple walking just outside the store. The boyfriend started walking toward the SUV shouting something harsh from behind his Oakley knockoffs, but not before Brad threw the car into gear, sporting a one-fingered salute as he drove off the lot.
Half an hour passed and Dan and Brad reached the impound after an extended series of U-turns, illegal rights, failures to signal, and illegal lane changes. They had reached their destination, the words "Kaylant Auto Park" painted in blue over a long banner made from intersecting sheets of plywood signaled the end of their journey. Brad took the right into the impound but stopped in front of the makeshift banner. With cold eyes from behind the shaded glass of his aviators, he did the only thing that could complete his 1980's Top Gun facade, he lit another cigarette and stared down the motionless banner as if it were a sworn enemy. Brad's intensity was broken as a mother with her teenage daughter in a brown suburban blew her horn to his rear. He broke off his stare and drove into the lot.
Brad grimaced at the broken-down vulgarity of the impound, "good move getting cash, I don't think they accept credit or debit." Dan admitted to himself having the same impression of the Kaylant Auto Park, he expected to find a pitbull tied to a fencepost every time he could see around a new corner. Brad pulled his silver beast into a parking spot to the left and put it in park. Dan unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out, walking to the left to reach the stairs leading to the main office. "I'll just wait out here," Brad said matter-of-factly. Dan passed by the driver's side window, looked in, and walked up the stairs. He reached the door and turned door knob only to realize it wouldn't turn. Looking down at it sharply, he jabbed it briskly left and right a few times before it opened, and he walked into the office.
Once inside, Dan noticed the one-hundred-and-eighty degrees of difference from the outside of the office. Painted walls, the average-looking waiting room chairs, the fact there was carpet; had it not been for only a single, half-functioning fluorescent light lighting the office with a dull shade of despair, the inside of the office could almost be considered... normal for this city. His remained focused and walked towards the man sitting at the desk bathing in lifeless illumination. That man, he remained virtually motionless, breathing his necessary breaths, but none more. He stared listlessly at a blank claims form, making no effort to populate it. For all Dan knew, this man could be dead, which would probably be appropriate, given the mood of the office.
Daniel approached the desk, at which moment the mannequin of a man snapped a curve in his neck and looked at Daniel. "Good afternoon sir," this mannequin-man spoke, his bark-black hair, sagging face, grayish-blue eyes, and subdued vocal tone told Daniel that this man was as lifeless as the light that could manage no more than to ward off the darkness that would surely consume him from all sides. Daniel managed to break himself from his current train of thought, "hi," he managed to sputter, "I need to get my car out of here." The man, identified by his name tag as "Tyler" breathed a heavy breath inward as he reached behind him to grab a clipboard hanging on the wall, "was your car towed within the last 24 hours?" Daniel replied with a 'yes' and Tyler flipped over a single page on his clipboard. "What's the tag number?" Daniel shot back, "H-zero-one, eight, V, I" Tyler looked at the page for a second, "Yep, we've got her, that'll be $187.50 from you sir," Tyler muttered in a deadened tone. "Cash or charge?" Daniel reached for the money in his left pocket. "Cash," Daniel pulled out $193 from his pocket, pulled off the three single-dollar bills, and handed them over to Tyler, who opened a drawer, put the cash in, and handed Daniel back a dollar bill and six quarters and shot him a quick look, "I'll be right back." He signed off with a smile and headed to the back room. Checking his cell phone, it was 4:36 and the sun was bright, but it wouldn't be for much longer.
Meanwhile, Bradley sat outside in his car, admiring the dump he was in the midst of, smoking another cigarette, when he noticed a short, stocky, balding man of roughly 40-or-so years and Hispanic or Indian descent walking next to a light-skinned man of average height speaking Spanish. The Spanish man spoke for a while, but then paused and said something seemingly removed from his established rhythm, and the short man's eyes lit up like a fire. He immediately turned to the Spanish man and began yelling up at him in extended bursts, his downwards-flying forearms accented with the trademark tightly-clenched fists of a tiny raging man took the Spanish man by surprise, throwing him on the defensive, taking a step backwards, frightened. Bradley chuckled and smirked at the ordeal, watching amusedly from the car window. The Spanish man paused and looked at Bradley for a second, then slowly back to the short man, who had paused his yelling for the duration of the Spanish man's diverted attention, and then continued with a short lunge and a shout, scaring the Spanish man again, and resumed his yelling. Brad, thoroughly satisfied by this display of aggression, turned to face the building once more while taking another puff of his cigarette to witness Dan emerging from the office as he made his way down the stairs.
Brad looked towards Dan, who had turned to look at the building and resorted to walking backwards to do so, "They found the drugs, didn't they?" Dan whipped his neck towards Brad once in disbelief, then once again in confusion, then it dawned on him that this was his friend's way of joking around. "They found them all right," Dan said indifferently, still looking at the building, putting his arm on Brad's roof. "Funny thing, too, they say that someone, probably a friend, was using my car as a stashing place. They also found a significant amount of dark curly hair on the bags, he said they looked consistent with that of a Jew-fro. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Brad scratched his head, "What about YOUR car? Isn't it fixed yet?"
Dan briefly recalled the incident from two weeks ago that left his car in the shop. A fruit-vendor was walking between cars during the red light at a busy intersection peddling bananas, when two men began yelling at him from across the street. The man began arguing with them, yelling something back to them whenever they yelled something at him. Even after the light turned green and he drove off Dan saw the fruit man yelling furiously across the street from his rear view window. He turned his attention back to the road ahead of him. Having just gotten off work and being Friday, Dan's first stop was Street Cle@n, a poorly-named dry cleaning business in a plaza on Rusty Pkwy. He stopped, went, turned, and even made an illegal U-turn, but he eventually made it to the dry cleaners often mistaken for a computer repair store.
Dan parked facing the road, squealing his front-left tire as he turned the corner. He popped his trunk, walked into the cleaners, and took his spot in line. Outside, a few children ran around, yelling and screaming as they do, throwing those little firecrackers at each other that snap when they hit something. One kid screamed as he was hit by one on the cheek. Looking to the right, a young blonde girl from the salon two suites down was stood outside. She gave a sort of laugh and watched them run around. Dan turned his attention back to the line in front of him, which had shortened to only two people standing in front of him. Waiting half-patiently, his eyes darted around the suite, reading the little posters detailing garment-cleaning prices and employee safety, observing the yellowed faux-silk wallpaper, he looked at his cell phone for the time, and finally put his hands in his pockets as the guy in front of him moved to the front of line. He watched the young Latina girl running the register as she took the clothes from the man in front of him. He took another look outside to see two kids hiding behind a dumpster while an elderly man walked towards them at a slow pace, the kids seemed to be holding something in their hands, but it didn't matter, Dan took another look over to where the girl had been, but she was gone.
Dan stood facing forward again at the dry cleaners, looking up at the ceiling every so often. He might have been next in line, but the guy in front of him seemed to be taking longer than the two people before him. He looked outside again to find a dump truck approaching from the far end of the plaza, and the two kids hiding behind the dumpster jumped out and both threw a hand full of their firecrackers at the old man who was very much taken by surprise. Some of the firecrackers hit him on the chest and face and snapped audibly. The old man's temper sweltered as the two brats ran off, and he took chase to them as best he could. Walking as if his suspenders held the seat of his pants far too high for comfort, the elderly man hobbled as fast as he could towards the inner walk of the plaza, "you little rascals!" He yelled as he pushed his glasses back on to his face by the bridge and breathed heavily while his right arm ran in opposition to his legs.
As Dan watched the scene, the girl at the register called for him. He stepped forward and put his clothes on the stretch of counter. Pressed, starched, and done by Tuesday at the latest, as usual. "Will that be cash or charge?" He was asked, "charge." He pulled out his card and before she could take it, the sound of two very heavy objects colliding with one another with a loud THUD shook the glass and everybody inside turned around.
Everybody turned to see a garbage truck with a caved-in front end and the dumpster that it struck running away from it's attacker. It arched around towards the plaza before the slope of the concrete threw it on its right-side wheels and it arched away. Dan looked to see where it was going, and he soon saw the dumpster's designated target. "Oh, shit!" Dan immediately dropped his card and wallet and collided with and pushed everybody out of the way as he threw himself with all his might out the front door and into the parking lot. Within an arm's length of the dumpster from Dan, it struck the back of his car and sent it flying out into the middle of the street, while the dumpster exited on the far end of the plaza. Those drivers erring on the side of caution saw the hurdling dumpster and immediately stopped to avoid the collision, while two drivers, apparently braver than the rest, sped up to avoid it. What they didn't notice was the blue sedan slowly stretching across the very three lanes they were driving on. The first car struck the front of Dan's car, sending the back end flying, while the second received the full impact of the rear end of a sedan being thrown into their gunmetal, hemi-powered 4x4.
Dan ran into the middle of the street, where a young boy, no older than 14, climbed out of the 4x4's passenger door, who, being unable to contain his excitement ran around the front of the 4x4 to look at the car they just hit. A second man, somewhere between 35 and 40, got out of the same passenger-side door and looked over at Dan, the man's face screamed of anger control issues, and they didn't look like they were going away on this particular day either.
"Uh..."
Dan stood in a trance, he had to make a careful choice. Brad was a friend, he wouldn't want to make a fool decision. Even if he did, it wouldn't make a big difference, but it would probably matter in some small, perhaps inconsequential way. But he used to do this too, he remembers what it was like. They were all so similar, yet the difference lies in subtlety. Which one? Which one?
"Which one, sir?" Inquired a man roughly eye-level with Dan. He was older, but his hardened gaze told Dan he'd been doing this for a very long time. Pulling himself together, Dan focused on the task at hand, put all of his energy into making the best decision not only for himself, but for his friend too. His mind flew through a cloud of possibility, breaking past all of the barriers, approaching the pinnacle of mentality where the truth waited for him to arrive. Closer, slower, the end was nigh, the train was coming to a stop. Dan peered out of the window, and saw the truth waiting for him like a child with a big red balloon. His mouth wet, his tongue extended, and he spoke...
"That one, above the grey and gold one." A nod accented the statement. "The 27s?" Inquired the clerk. Daniel looked at the package with a limited intensity, "uh huh." The clerk took a package of cigarettes from the rack and turned around, scanning the UPC. "$6.80, will that be cash or credit?" The clerk's eyes deflected from the computer screen to his customer, who pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket.
"Cash," Daniel's word coincided with the moment his middle and forefinger pinned the note to the counter top, he slid it to the clerk and grabbed his cigarettes. The clerk gave him his change and gestured kindly as left the convenience store. "Come again."
Outside, Dan stepped to the side of the door and examined the cigarettes. He unwrapped the cellophane and opened the top of the pack. He placed his thumb on the filter of a cigarette and pulled it upwards, but he stopped himself from taking the plunge. Pushing it back into the pack, Dan reminded himself that he gave that up. Cocking his head upwards, he quickly scanned the parking lot and walked around to the side of the convenience store to Brad's car. Dan was met with a flash of sunlight as he rounded the corner and walked around the back of the silver Outlook and homed in on passenger seat door.
Dan climbed in through the door and held the cigarettes up to his friend, "Here's your payment for coming to get me," Dan said in a contrived tone. Smiling a boyish grin Brad removed them from Dan's grasp with a slow, right hook-motion, "you've really quit haven't you?" Brad said to Dan, referencing the broken seal of cellophane and full pack of cigarettes. Dan looked over to his friend, "I've been keeping it that way, it's never been easy, you know." Brad nodded in compassion while Dan fastened his seat belt. Brad lit his cigarette with the car lighter, and took the first puff, "that's good, I'm happy to hear you're sticking with it," Brad stated as smoke rolled out of his nose and mouth. "Did you have enough in that joke-of-a-bank-account of yours?" Brad said as he chuckled to himself. Dan replied, self-assuredly, "Sure did." Dan reached for the cash in his pocket. "Once I get old Betty out of jail we're going out for a night on the town." A slowly-intensifying smile crept across Brad's face and he chimed in, "Old Betty huh? You have a date with another senior citizen? And she's a convict?" Dan sat there for a second before smirking and facing the window. "First of all, she wasn't over 55, second, you know I'm talking about my car, and third, it was an interview, not a date." Brad decided to muse himself a little, "all I'm saying is that if an attractive, recently-divorced editor of a nationally-recognized publication wanted to interview me at a four-star restaurant that's more than well-known for their champagne, age wouldn't make a difference at this point. Hell, we're old men practically." Dan rubbed his chin to hide a smile, "Age is a state of mind, my friend. If you feel you're better suited to prowling the nursing home, I've got your back," Dan responded without missing a beat. Brad sounded off with an accented "Fuuuck you," before starting the engine of his proud locomotive. He backed around the corner of the convenience store, causing apparent concern for a couple walking just outside the store. The boyfriend started walking toward the SUV shouting something harsh from behind his Oakley knockoffs, but not before Brad threw the car into gear, sporting a one-fingered salute as he drove off the lot.
Half an hour passed and Dan and Brad reached the impound after an extended series of U-turns, illegal rights, failures to signal, and illegal lane changes. They had reached their destination, the words "Kaylant Auto Park" painted in blue over a long banner made from intersecting sheets of plywood signaled the end of their journey. Brad took the right into the impound but stopped in front of the makeshift banner. With cold eyes from behind the shaded glass of his aviators, he did the only thing that could complete his 1980's Top Gun facade, he lit another cigarette and stared down the motionless banner as if it were a sworn enemy. Brad's intensity was broken as a mother with her teenage daughter in a brown suburban blew her horn to his rear. He broke off his stare and drove into the lot.
Brad grimaced at the broken-down vulgarity of the impound, "good move getting cash, I don't think they accept credit or debit." Dan admitted to himself having the same impression of the Kaylant Auto Park, he expected to find a pitbull tied to a fencepost every time he could see around a new corner. Brad pulled his silver beast into a parking spot to the left and put it in park. Dan unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out, walking to the left to reach the stairs leading to the main office. "I'll just wait out here," Brad said matter-of-factly. Dan passed by the driver's side window, looked in, and walked up the stairs. He reached the door and turned door knob only to realize it wouldn't turn. Looking down at it sharply, he jabbed it briskly left and right a few times before it opened, and he walked into the office.
Once inside, Dan noticed the one-hundred-and-eighty degrees of difference from the outside of the office. Painted walls, the average-looking waiting room chairs, the fact there was carpet; had it not been for only a single, half-functioning fluorescent light lighting the office with a dull shade of despair, the inside of the office could almost be considered... normal for this city. His remained focused and walked towards the man sitting at the desk bathing in lifeless illumination. That man, he remained virtually motionless, breathing his necessary breaths, but none more. He stared listlessly at a blank claims form, making no effort to populate it. For all Dan knew, this man could be dead, which would probably be appropriate, given the mood of the office.
Daniel approached the desk, at which moment the mannequin of a man snapped a curve in his neck and looked at Daniel. "Good afternoon sir," this mannequin-man spoke, his bark-black hair, sagging face, grayish-blue eyes, and subdued vocal tone told Daniel that this man was as lifeless as the light that could manage no more than to ward off the darkness that would surely consume him from all sides. Daniel managed to break himself from his current train of thought, "hi," he managed to sputter, "I need to get my car out of here." The man, identified by his name tag as "Tyler" breathed a heavy breath inward as he reached behind him to grab a clipboard hanging on the wall, "was your car towed within the last 24 hours?" Daniel replied with a 'yes' and Tyler flipped over a single page on his clipboard. "What's the tag number?" Daniel shot back, "H-zero-one, eight, V, I" Tyler looked at the page for a second, "Yep, we've got her, that'll be $187.50 from you sir," Tyler muttered in a deadened tone. "Cash or charge?" Daniel reached for the money in his left pocket. "Cash," Daniel pulled out $193 from his pocket, pulled off the three single-dollar bills, and handed them over to Tyler, who opened a drawer, put the cash in, and handed Daniel back a dollar bill and six quarters and shot him a quick look, "I'll be right back." He signed off with a smile and headed to the back room. Checking his cell phone, it was 4:36 and the sun was bright, but it wouldn't be for much longer.
Meanwhile, Bradley sat outside in his car, admiring the dump he was in the midst of, smoking another cigarette, when he noticed a short, stocky, balding man of roughly 40-or-so years and Hispanic or Indian descent walking next to a light-skinned man of average height speaking Spanish. The Spanish man spoke for a while, but then paused and said something seemingly removed from his established rhythm, and the short man's eyes lit up like a fire. He immediately turned to the Spanish man and began yelling up at him in extended bursts, his downwards-flying forearms accented with the trademark tightly-clenched fists of a tiny raging man took the Spanish man by surprise, throwing him on the defensive, taking a step backwards, frightened. Bradley chuckled and smirked at the ordeal, watching amusedly from the car window. The Spanish man paused and looked at Bradley for a second, then slowly back to the short man, who had paused his yelling for the duration of the Spanish man's diverted attention, and then continued with a short lunge and a shout, scaring the Spanish man again, and resumed his yelling. Brad, thoroughly satisfied by this display of aggression, turned to face the building once more while taking another puff of his cigarette to witness Dan emerging from the office as he made his way down the stairs.
Brad looked towards Dan, who had turned to look at the building and resorted to walking backwards to do so, "They found the drugs, didn't they?" Dan whipped his neck towards Brad once in disbelief, then once again in confusion, then it dawned on him that this was his friend's way of joking around. "They found them all right," Dan said indifferently, still looking at the building, putting his arm on Brad's roof. "Funny thing, too, they say that someone, probably a friend, was using my car as a stashing place. They also found a significant amount of dark curly hair on the bags, he said they looked consistent with that of a Jew-fro. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Brad scratched his head, "What about YOUR car? Isn't it fixed yet?"
Dan briefly recalled the incident from two weeks ago that left his car in the shop. A fruit-vendor was walking between cars during the red light at a busy intersection peddling bananas, when two men began yelling at him from across the street. The man began arguing with them, yelling something back to them whenever they yelled something at him. Even after the light turned green and he drove off Dan saw the fruit man yelling furiously across the street from his rear view window. He turned his attention back to the road ahead of him. Having just gotten off work and being Friday, Dan's first stop was Street Cle@n, a poorly-named dry cleaning business in a plaza on Rusty Pkwy. He stopped, went, turned, and even made an illegal U-turn, but he eventually made it to the dry cleaners often mistaken for a computer repair store.
Dan parked facing the road, squealing his front-left tire as he turned the corner. He popped his trunk, walked into the cleaners, and took his spot in line. Outside, a few children ran around, yelling and screaming as they do, throwing those little firecrackers at each other that snap when they hit something. One kid screamed as he was hit by one on the cheek. Looking to the right, a young blonde girl from the salon two suites down was stood outside. She gave a sort of laugh and watched them run around. Dan turned his attention back to the line in front of him, which had shortened to only two people standing in front of him. Waiting half-patiently, his eyes darted around the suite, reading the little posters detailing garment-cleaning prices and employee safety, observing the yellowed faux-silk wallpaper, he looked at his cell phone for the time, and finally put his hands in his pockets as the guy in front of him moved to the front of line. He watched the young Latina girl running the register as she took the clothes from the man in front of him. He took another look outside to see two kids hiding behind a dumpster while an elderly man walked towards them at a slow pace, the kids seemed to be holding something in their hands, but it didn't matter, Dan took another look over to where the girl had been, but she was gone.
Dan stood facing forward again at the dry cleaners, looking up at the ceiling every so often. He might have been next in line, but the guy in front of him seemed to be taking longer than the two people before him. He looked outside again to find a dump truck approaching from the far end of the plaza, and the two kids hiding behind the dumpster jumped out and both threw a hand full of their firecrackers at the old man who was very much taken by surprise. Some of the firecrackers hit him on the chest and face and snapped audibly. The old man's temper sweltered as the two brats ran off, and he took chase to them as best he could. Walking as if his suspenders held the seat of his pants far too high for comfort, the elderly man hobbled as fast as he could towards the inner walk of the plaza, "you little rascals!" He yelled as he pushed his glasses back on to his face by the bridge and breathed heavily while his right arm ran in opposition to his legs.
As Dan watched the scene, the girl at the register called for him. He stepped forward and put his clothes on the stretch of counter. Pressed, starched, and done by Tuesday at the latest, as usual. "Will that be cash or charge?" He was asked, "charge." He pulled out his card and before she could take it, the sound of two very heavy objects colliding with one another with a loud THUD shook the glass and everybody inside turned around.
Everybody turned to see a garbage truck with a caved-in front end and the dumpster that it struck running away from it's attacker. It arched around towards the plaza before the slope of the concrete threw it on its right-side wheels and it arched away. Dan looked to see where it was going, and he soon saw the dumpster's designated target. "Oh, shit!" Dan immediately dropped his card and wallet and collided with and pushed everybody out of the way as he threw himself with all his might out the front door and into the parking lot. Within an arm's length of the dumpster from Dan, it struck the back of his car and sent it flying out into the middle of the street, while the dumpster exited on the far end of the plaza. Those drivers erring on the side of caution saw the hurdling dumpster and immediately stopped to avoid the collision, while two drivers, apparently braver than the rest, sped up to avoid it. What they didn't notice was the blue sedan slowly stretching across the very three lanes they were driving on. The first car struck the front of Dan's car, sending the back end flying, while the second received the full impact of the rear end of a sedan being thrown into their gunmetal, hemi-powered 4x4.
Dan ran into the middle of the street, where a young boy, no older than 14, climbed out of the 4x4's passenger door, who, being unable to contain his excitement ran around the front of the 4x4 to look at the car they just hit. A second man, somewhere between 35 and 40, got out of the same passenger-side door and looked over at Dan, the man's face screamed of anger control issues, and they didn't look like they were going away on this particular day either.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
I ran,
I ran through a field littered with what remained of an ancient, yet powerful machine.
It's use long forgotten, a time never remembered.
The way we are, the people we have become.
What purpose do we serve?
We sweat from victory to sleep afterwards.
Our hearts race for an hour only to stall for an eternity.
We place our faith in what lies above our crowns, and we stand the storms and battle the winds.
When the ground by our feet chips away, exposing the mud between the pebbles, we fall to our knees in disgust, and curse the Earth for our misjudgment, refusing to look at ourselves.
Every day brings with it a battle that cannot be won, cannot be drawn out.
We face one outcome that never changes, and it waits for our slumber to end.
Tomorrow will be today, and has been yesterday for eternity.
When yet another day lies in wait, hope is our fortress, and love is our spear.
I ran through a field littered with what remained of an ancient, yet powerful machine.
It's use long forgotten, a time never remembered.
The way we are, the people we have become.
What purpose do we serve?
We sweat from victory to sleep afterwards.
Our hearts race for an hour only to stall for an eternity.
We place our faith in what lies above our crowns, and we stand the storms and battle the winds.
When the ground by our feet chips away, exposing the mud between the pebbles, we fall to our knees in disgust, and curse the Earth for our misjudgment, refusing to look at ourselves.
Every day brings with it a battle that cannot be won, cannot be drawn out.
We face one outcome that never changes, and it waits for our slumber to end.
Tomorrow will be today, and has been yesterday for eternity.
When yet another day lies in wait, hope is our fortress, and love is our spear.
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