I have this Ray Bradbury thing up on my wall that says "Work/Relaxation/Don't think" and now it's making some sense. I think the effort is to subconsciously think of my mind as a ship, and think of the concept of making sense as the way I'm trying to steer it. So eventually my stories will start to make sense if I keep on writing them. 53 days is more than a habit, so hey. You guys are doing important stuff and I'm writing stories. But, hey, if I keep getting done earlier and earlier in the day eventually it won't consume my life completely the way it does now. Without further ado, more words.
Gotta be honest, phoned in the end of this one. Just wasn't feeling it. We'll have a fresh go of it tomorrow.
Gotta be honest, phoned in the end of this one. Just wasn't feeling it. We'll have a fresh go of it tomorrow.
The mobile shook as it reacquianted itself with solid ground underneath it. It bumped past a series of orange coated service men, waving it in with fluorescent sticks. The driver waved out the window, a man with a newspaper folded it and put it into the sidepocket of his briefcase. Another man gurgled a giant couch, like he was reaching at a key he dropped down the garbage disposal.
Charles watched as the bus pulled into a station, a giant warehouse that looked more like an aircraft carrier. It blocked the view behind it completely, as far as he could make out it was a floating aircraft carrier.
The bus driver executed his duty effortlessly, swiftly avoiding a variety of other parked vehicles. Pedestrians walked across a concourse blocked by a median and reinforced by a wire fence. A man selling hotdogs wore a hat that looked like a hotdog. The bus eased to a stop in between a yellow chalk rectangle and the doors poofed open. The bus cleared out single file, no one rushing to reach their destinations, and Charles stepped off last.
The air was thick and dingy, Charles heaved it in like drawing smoke from a cigarette. He punched at his chest with the flat of his fist, leaning over temporarily.
An attendant in a blue jacket approached and implored Charles to continue on the path off out of the lot. “You get used to it. We all had that at first.” He smiled and tipped his cap, leading the way for Charles off of the concourse before heading back to the buses.
Charles felt like he was at an airport. He remembered the time when he had just graduated from college, and haphazardly moved to New Mexico to visit friends he met at camp in 8th grade. It was the first and only time he had traveled alone before now, and the vast emptiness of the world around him didn’t make him feel insignificant like he thought it would. Instead, he felt like an alien in a distant land, subserviant and plying to fit in. He applied himself to the world he was only a spectator in, waking up before the sun rose and cleaning stables, milking cows, performing thankless hard labor. If he stayed busy, the homesickness and lack of direction wouldn’t overcome him.
He took a mental assessment of his wits, and found that he was doing fine. He gave the pangs of opportunity a chance to stab and reproduce themselves, but his head was clear, more clear than he imagined they could be. He followed the path along behind the businessmen, a soft prostrate white path that may as well have been made out of cloud. It felt hollow, but as he watched even the fattest of the businessmen walking on it with little concern for its durability he breathed a sigh of relief.
A series of stores sat in a stretch of square rooms on his left side, the opposite side of the path a sheet of glass blocked the sky. Oscillating fans hummed above the bridge, and pictograph signs advertised the lavatories and emergency exits.
The door to the convenience store chimed as Charles pushed through, an elderly woman greeted him with genuine kindness from behind the desk.
“First time in?” She asked, looking across the service counter and rocking in her chair. A birdcage sat on the counter with a beautiful plumed parrot inside, or atleast it looked like a parrot but it wasn’t talking. There were maps, general groceries, freezers full of numerous beverages, rows of imposter namebrand candy bars.
“Yep, did you know I was coming? Looks like you opened the store up just for me.” Charles heard confidence in his voice that startled him, he felt like it wasn’t his own voice. Like an exceptional ventrioloquist.
“Well, I don’t know about all that. Seems like the only people who come in lately are first timers, but the lot of them mostly buy maps and a few odds and ends. You could use a map, couldn’t you?”
Charles nodded and headed over to the map rack. There was an excessive amount of different brands of maps, all trying as hard as they could to look similar. “What’s a good one?”
She unfolded a map and touted this particular brands totality and accuracy. She pointed out the residential district, the commercial enterprises that were disdainfully popping up everywhere these days, the shrines that hovered independently from the rest of the island and had to be reached by helium balloons.
“Business or pleasure?” She said with a rote sensibility.
Charles insisted he didn’t know which one it was, but the thought dawned on him that maybe he’d learn to like it up here. It was a fresh start, a brand new world, he was already being treated with more dignity and respect than he deserved. Maybe he could elevate his quality of work to that level.
Outside, the sun had reached its apex in the sky, driving the clouds away in droves. Castlelike towers loomed motionless over the surrounding island, casting a shadow which was magnified by the suns brilliance.. It enveloped half of the room, and the lady rose and turned a switch with a long cane that released sunglasses-style awnings.
Charles bought the map and a pair of sunglasses, thanked the lady and set back outside. He felt a sharp prod in his stomach which subsided as soon as it presented itself, and continued up a series of stairs that wound onto a new platform.
There was a swingset, its swings twisting from side to side under the wind. The sun was hrash but it made him feel alert and awake, moreso than he had in years. Nature had produced a strong lucidity inside of him. A sandbox sat next to the swingset, and this park was framed on two sides by enormous ancient trees. The sun attempted to burn a hole into Charles scalp, but it might just want to get in there and rearrange a few things, fixing his mind in the process.
Brick roads led between European style buildings. A young mother walked past Charles with a little girl on one arm and her brother on the other. She smiled widely at him, and he breathed easily for the first time. The sound of the wind rustling through trees, the call of birds far off, the rattling of windows eased into his brain and he had trouble keeping his eyes open.
He walked past a cathedral with stained-glass windows depecting a caravan traveling past a swamp full of crocodiles. The light made it look like a Light Bright from the other side. The doors to the church were open and people were filed in, sitting vigil for a casket which stood 90 feet from Charles at the altar. He stepped into the building and the preacher by the podium mounted above the casket stopped talking for a split second, skipped a beat, and resumed. Charles found a seat in the last pew next to two older ladies, both of them scrunched up in the shoulder region and wearing scarfs tied over their perms.
“He was so young.” The one closest to Charles relented to herself.
“You’re never too young to die.” The other said, shaking her head.
“He will be with us always,” The preacher said with narrowed eyes. He tugged at his white collar, positive it was uneven. “Every time you hear any of his songs, he’ll be whispering in your ear. When he sings to you then, he sings to you now. He wants you to hear him like it’s the first time, over and over again.”
The man was milking this death thing. The crowd sat solemnly, leaning toward each other at the more poignant moments of his dedication.
Charles rose to leave, and felt a tug inside to check out the contents of the casket. He walked down the isle with his head slumped forward and hands webbed infront of him. The preacher again looked down on him, coughed, and then continued speaking. The man in the casket had a big fat head, dark black skin, and an authority moustache. He felt like this man was more than just the music the reverand had eluded to, he stood out in stark contrast to the rest of the attendees. He glanced around at the people sitting in each row, staring back up at him, and then left quickly.
His arms and legs were tired with the weight of death, and he found a bench to sit at. There was one back in the park, across from the swings. He settled in, removed the map from his pocket and started to try to familiarize himself with the surroundings.
The church he had been in was represented with a big + sign on the map, on one side of it there was an upholstery store, on the other a taxidermist. Charles considered the merits of becoming really good at something, he could start his own shop! They were specialized in ways he hadn’t considered. A pond stood on the far side of the town, he was in the park which also took up a considerable amount of the city limits. There was a home for travelers marked in colorful highlighters on the map, he stood on the bench and looked in vain to locate it from where he was.
He listened as a hymn was sung, and the churchgoers walked the street carrying the casket. They looked like Christmas carolers on a marathon trip, hands in pockets and rank and file in line. It was unclear where they were going, and the vacant looks on their faces didn’t present an objective in their visions.
Birds landed curiously close to Charles, and begged in their shrill voices for food or bread crumbs. Or, he didn’t know why else they’d be bugging them. He shooed the group away with his map. When he began to forget about his troubles, a head peered up from the stairway. He’d recognize that awful face anywhere.
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