Here's a story I've been working on, thought I'd share the first three bits here to see if anyone has any feedback...
10:18
One
The bus sits at the station, rumbling and shaking like a great angry beast that can’t be bothered attacking the pests that infest it. These pests are idle themselves, shuffling thoughtlessly aboard and dumping their change into the collection bin, then elbowing their way to it’s innards to take a seat that was clearly designed for someone much smaller. The overweight driver stares straight ahead, hunched over the steering wheel with an expression of numb dismay on his face, acknowledging none of them. No one speaks, and no one makes eye contact. It’s cold, it’s gray, it’s abysmal and it’s like this every damned day.
It’s 5:10pm in the city, and going-the-hell-home time. Looking down the windows of the bus one after another I see nothing but the bored, blank faces of people who are tired, dreary and not living in the moment. Not a single one of them, driver included are really on the bus. They’re day dreaming about home, or work or far away places. Some sit and stare, some listen to music, some read romance novels but none of them are actually on the bus. They’re all coping with life and reality as they’ve come to know it, by escaping it every single chance they get. Little do they realize.
I stand on the sidewalk as the snowflakes slowly fall, watching this mundane occurrence with what would look like peculiar interest if anyone were to actually notice. Scenes like this have caught my attention a lot since I found out. At first just for the sake of curiosity, later out of a sense of paranoia and now for pure self preservation. I really have little choice.
I catch his gaze just as the bus lurches to life and begins to slowly pull into traffic. An acknowledgment in a sea of disinterest. He’s sitting in the very back seat on the near side of the bus, and he’s staring directly at me. I look back fascinated and disbelieving as always, as if it were the first time I was seeing one and just now acknowledging the insane truth sitting in front of me. His head is slightly down as he looks at me out from under his brow. A young businessman at a glance, or maybe a salesman of some kind in a gray overcoat, a gray suit and red tie. His hair is close cropped and combed back tightly over his clean shaven face. On his lap is a briefcase, which he clutches in both arms like a mother might hold a child. He is an “average man”, looking no different than anyone else, but I know the truth. I know what he is. Our gaze locks as time moves in slow motion.
His eyes widen slightly as we share a moment of mutual, uneasy recognition. I can see the hatred building as he glares at me, as if he’s looking at a spot three feet behind my skull. Although this one has never met me before, this “average man” absolutely despises me and were the circumstances right he would see me dead here and now. I can feel his anger building as he looks through me. The malice, the hatred, the pure and complete sense of loathing. I infuriate him. He wants to see my guts ripped out and smeared across the sidewalk. He wants me to suffer and die horribly by his hand, right now. This moment. His rage and hatred are palpable, as he tries to maintain an air of nonchalance. I’m trying to not attract attention myself, but I’m sweating despite the cold and starting to shake as I unwillingly maintain our stare down. Finally, the bus slowly pulls this “average man” out of sight into the dense, heavy traffic of the city. I can still see his face.
I know, and he knows that I know. They all do, and they absolutely hate me for it.
It’s time to get moving.
Last edited by datter on Fri Apr 18, 2008 4:56 pm; edited 1 time in total
Two
Home and “safe”.
I made it back to my one bedroom bachelor shortly after 7pm, which is slightly later than I’d like but these days keeping a predictable routine is unwise. I think anyway, I don’t really know a damned thing anymore. This is my third apartment since all of this started back in November, and I’m already unsure how long I’ll be able to keep it up. If I hadn’t promised her I’d do this, I’d have walked away a long time ago although I’m trying to accept the fact that walking away isn’t even possible anyway. So here I am in a situation where the outcome is at best completely unclear, and at worst is something I absolutely refuse to contemplate. I miss her, I wonder if she even remembers me?
The apartment is small and like everything else in this damned city, it’s gray. The walls are damp with moisture and mildew and the floor is stained by something organic the origin of which I can only guess at, but choose not to. There is one window with a cliched view of a brick wall across the alley and despite the brick, it’s gray too. “Two rooms”, the landlord said when he showed the place to me, “one to shit in and one for everything else. $350 a month, by the month. Want it or not?”. How could I turn down such a sweet offer?
So the depressingly stark look of the place won’t be lonely it also comes with a range of accompanying smells, and none of them pleasant. They surround me as I half-heartedly rummage through the cupboards looking for something to eat like a starving rat that’s indifferent to it’s imminent demise. Stale bread, some cornstarch and half a roll of tinfoil. Not exactly appetizing so I just go to bed and take advantage of the one thing this apartment does offer, cable TV. The landlord said the price of the service is added into the rent, but considering the fact that he also said the entire building is wired up “the old fashioned way from the porn store across the alley”, I’m not sure how he justifies charging a fee. Typical really, but I don’t care so much because this place is cheap and anonymous, plus I need the TV to try and sort some things out. I’m removed enough as it is.
The eighties era Radio Shack television slowly fries itself awake as I switch to the news and hear the same things as usual. War, murder, rape, robbery, car accidents, missing children, financial turmoil, sports and weather. As if adding on the last two will somehow alleviate the crushing immorality of all the rest. Two more women were found raped and murdered on the outskirts of the city today, there were a string of robberies overnight two of which ended in shooting deaths and there was a suicide bombing in another country that killed seventy-nine people including thirty children… oh but on the plus side the Bears won a home game, and its going to be on the mild side this weekend. The news shows the depths of human depravity and misery, while implying it’s not so bad because it’s all happening to other people and not you. It provides the escape of allowing people to ‘tsk tsk’ at everyone else while feeling better about themselves for being above it all. They aren’t of course, not really. People are what I’ve come to call willingly ignorant, eating up everything that’s fed to them without ever once considering the source of the meal.
The comparison may sound preachy, but society really is little more than a flock of sheep. Each individual keeps their heads down in the flock and happily chews on whatever dirty grass happens to be underneath them at the moment. They push and shove, eat, sleep, ****** and fight every day without ever once acknowledging the truth of what’s going on around them. All it takes is one to raise it’s head and look around, the truth is right there but none of them see it, or even want to see it. Not to sound high and mighty mind you, I was a sheep like everyone else my entire life and damned happy about it. I simply didn’t want to know any more about the “big picture” than what sterile information the evening news provided me. Yes, the world could be a terrible place full of hardship and wrongs, and ‘tsk tsk’ that’s terrible but Seinfeld was coming on so that’s ok. I was a willingly ignorant sheep, and on many levels I miss it. Now I find myself outside the flock in perception first and understanding thereafter, forced to carry on with the uncertain knowledge of what makes up the “real world”, with the flock a nebulous herd somewhere in the distance.
Oh, and the shepherds want to ****** torture me to death.
So far I’ve found seven other people who find themselves in the same place I do. Three I’ve met, three I’ve only heard of and one… well, that’s Laura. From what I’ve been able to gather there were others in the city at some point, some who were from here and others who traveled here for whatever reason. All of them awoke one day with the same bitter realization that destroyed their lives and prevented them from taking part in this ignorant reality everyone else wanders around in. Once you know, you know and there really is no going home again. I miss home.
The news is still on, showing views of global misery and upset interrupted occasionally by the demoralizing consumerism of advertising. I find watching the news fascinatingly scary these days, although in a different way than I did before and that very difference helps me put all of this into focus. Besides that, I can see them here too. Just as I can spot them on the street where others can’t, I can see them on TV as well… but here they can’t look back at me as I stare transfixed. They can’t get me. I’m safe looking at them through this little electric window, and they still terrify me. I have little choice regardless, I need more information if I’m to be ready for the next meeting and besides, watching them like this gives me strength.
God knows I need that. I’m going out again tomorrow.
Three
I arrive downtown at around 4:50pm, just prior to the masses being released from their corporate dungeons, eager to flee the confines of the city that belittles them all day for the safety and routine of home. This is the best time of day for this sort of thing, two men alone on a sidewalk might stand out. Two men in a group of hundreds much less so, and I’m not ready to stand out yet. Not like that.
I wait at the corner of 42nd and Main, just outside Carroll’s Book Store. It’s cold, and uncharacteristically clear as I find a likely spot where I could be both out of the way and in plain site at the same time. My hands thrust deep into my pockets against the cold, I lean against a light post facing south down 42nd street and wait. To my right is a newspaper box, the headline reads, “DEAD MAN STILL UNIDENTIFIED”. That’s exactly the sort of thing I’m trying to prevent on a personal level. It won’t be long, I just hope he’s alone.
I first spot him about two blocks down, walking towards me. I’ve been watching this guy for a good month now, I know his routine as well as he does. They’re all so damned predictable like that, but I suppose that’s what blending in is all about. He’s dressed as any other young businessman might be, a long dark overcoat with the collar pulled up against the cold and the hint of a fashionable green tie peeking out under his clean shaven chin. They seem to prefer this sort of detached professional look for some reason, possibly because it’s this vein of society where it’s easiest to blend in as a face among the faceless. His black hair is short and combed sharply to the right, giving him a crisp look of a professional charlatan and in a way, that’s exactly what he is. His eyes are narrow and his face expressionless just like those around him. He seems to be just another corporate soldier trudging home after a long day on the business battlefield. Of course, things are rarely what they seem.
As he gets nearer, I step away from the light post and stand facing him in the middle of the sidewalk. The crowd brushes and elbows past me in their hurry to get anywhere else, hardly noticing my presence beyond the momentary annoyance of someone not conforming to the flock. “What is wrong with you?”, one woman says as she pushes past. Good question. My throat tightens and my breathing becomes shallow as he draws nearer. For some reason, it feels like Dad is home and I’ve been a very bad boy. A crushing sense of claustrophobia closes in on me, as I realize he’s close enough now that I’m unlikely to get away unseen even if I chose to. I desperately want to turn and run, to scream at the top of my lungs and bolt for the nearest door and lock myself in, but I can’t. I told her I’d do this again, and damn it I’m going to do it. He’s still walking towards me, head slightly down. Close enough now he could hear me if I were stupid enough to raise my voice.
“Greetings shepherd,” I say aloud as the words catch in my throat, “you’ve been looking for me”. Our eyes meet as he’s about 20 feet away, and although this one has never seen me before, in his gaze I feel a sense of complete recognition. He stops cold and stares me down, likely unsure why I’m meeting him in the open like this. He’s wary and momentarily confused at my appearance, and frankly I can’t believe I’m doing this either. The crowd continues to bump and jostle its way past as we stand confronted, like two stones in a fast moving stream. “You are Jon Bradley,” he finally says in a confident voice of merciless resolve, “aged 34 years. You act outside the system. You will come with me”. I swallow hard as the reality of the moment begins to sink in, time to say my piece Laura.
“I respectfully decline your kind offer and instead ask you to relay a message to those above your control.” The wind picks up as sprays of snow swirl between he and I, whisking over the unthinking chattel of society still moving around us. I can’t believe I’m doing this and neither can he. “People like myself are many and strong, and for them as well as for myself I ask for your disassociation that we might leave this city without further repression. I ask that we be given leave to depart unhindered, free from further rebuke and free from fear of later prosecution or punishment. I ask that you allow us to assemble at a place of our choosing to depart as one, or to trickle out individually as we will by a schedule of our own choosing. We no longer want to take part in your experiment. We no longer wish to be cogs in your machine. We have no more use of shepherds.”
The wind howls, and the heartbeat of the noisy city seems hushed.
He hasn’t blinked since we first locked onto each other, and neither have I. He breathes deeply and for a moment looks around at the masses of people still oblivious to whats going on in front of them. As he looks he appears sickened and furious at the same time, like an angry man with a bad stomach flu. When his gaze returns to me the sickened part is gone leaving me with his rage, hatred and disdain. He looks like a man with too many things to worry about, and I’m here to give him one more. He takes his hands out of his pockets, fists clenched. “You will come with me”, he says again. Was that the slight flash of a smile on his face? He still hasn’t blinked as he starts advancing towards me, and I know it’s time to go. As I turn to run I pull out the envelope with a copy of my pretty sidewalk speech written on it and throw it on the ground between us. I’m hoping he stops to pick it up, but if he doesn’t one of the others will and no doubt they’re on their way. I took too much time with that, I really did.
My back is to him and I’m running now, hard and as fast as I can through the throngs of mindless business zombies that crowd the sidewalk. I’m pushing and being pushed, running and being restrained all by this mob of humanity too wrapped up in it’s own individual situations to even be aware of the chase that’s taking place within it. I can hear his footsteps behind me, fighting the same torrent of people. I can hear his breathing, and I can feel his intent. Madly I dash through the crowd with him close behind. I dart in and out amongst the people trying to stay low, if only to get out of his sight for a moment. I grab an older man selling newspapers and use him as support as I wheel around the corner and into the alley. It’s clear of people here, cluttered with garbage and refuse but otherwise empty. It will be him and I now, and no one else. I stretch my steps, almost bounding down the alley and nearly tripping over myself as my feet struggle to keep up to my now terrified momentum.
Behind me I hear the old man yell as he’s knocked over by the shepherd. The slapping of business shoes on concrete fills my ears as he charges after me in a furious rage, and I run. He must be gaining on me but I can’t look. I can’t do anything. My skin burns with tension, and my vision clouds with sweat. My head throbs and my feet hurt, but I keep running like a rabbit from the wolf. Is he about to grab me? I still can’t tell. BANG. BANG. BANG. I hear his feet hitting the pavement. Relentless, uniform, unforgiving. I’m flying almost out of control, pushing myself as fast as I can and the alley darkens around me. Around us.
Why the hell did I agree to this?
