End.

Fri, 25 Jun 2004 02:55:21 GMT

This project has been discontinued as so I can resume work on The Four Star Hero. Enjoy this somewhat cleaned up version of some ideas I jotted down while working.

One

Old women will say anything, unprovoked, to any person foolish enough to stand in one spot, for any length of time. I was lucky enough to find this out the hard way.

"And then I'm going to the hospital for knee surgery, because there is too much fluid here, but I don't think this cyst is malignant, though I thought it was a freckle at first, see?" she said as she pointed at her arm.

Her voice was soft, though it progressively became louder as so with a little effort, I could make out what she was saying. She mouthed something else, words escaping from her gut; sounds forced through her throat that found an exit past a parched stone-gray tongue, a set of nicotine-yellowed teeth, a pair of glued on lips, and a crop of short white hair growing from each nostril that flourished and strayed into her mouth due to gravity.

Despite noticing the disgusting array of physical imperfections present on this woman's face, I was not paying attention to her nonsensical story, and at the moment was completely regretful of my prior attempt at making sense of this aged enigma. Trying to make sense of things is my nature, but something told me it just wasn't worth it in this case. Still she stood, and still she spoke, but her words fell upon my deaf and apathetic ears. Was she aware of this? Was she aware of anything that was taking place around her? Why was her handbag slowly dripping a watery white fluid from the left corner?

For several minutes, I watched the liquid pool around her shoe and occasionally dribble onto her pants leaving a milky stain on her leg, but her words soon overpowered my ability to concentrate on such an amazing occurrence. Even though I had never seen anything like it in my short life, I decided that I could not stand another minute of her motiveless, meaningless story, and simply left her standing there, alone, with the chance to bother the next clueless passerby.

I returned to my labor, though only after disengaging my brain from my spinal cord, thus setting my body free of the pain that is associated with such tedious busy work. With my physical body numb and no longer a distraction, my mind was left open to mull over more stimulating activates.

I continued working, at first in peaceful bliss, but as time went on the sharp sting of reality returned and slowly began gnawing away at my entire person, much similar to an outbreak of what can only be described as total body gangrene. Because of my dilemma, I soon figured that if the mind and the body are two separate but interconnected entities, it is only right that if I am to abandon one, I should give the other the same courtesy.

I decided to put my body on a sort of primitive autopilot. It is in this state that the medulla oblongata is no longer necessary or sought after, and all inner workings and motor functions are preformed on instinct. Despite what I may have said prior to this point about wishing to be deceased, my body yearned for life, and live it did, despite a total lack of assistance on my part.

As far as I could tell, I finished the day and made it home safely, which mind you is no easy task when you are not in direct control of your colon. I regained full consciousness the next morning with a slight heart irregularity, so I pounded my chest several times, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and willed the organ back into it's normal routine. Up down, up down. With my organs in working order, it was now time to return to my own routine as a blood cell that made up this great and powerful country.

Two

I crossed the threshold at seven o'clock and observed that the store was as I had left it the day before. As I began my work, I noted that nothing seems to change for the better in this place of business. Slowly, the people and products within these walls decompose and leave behind empty skulls and toxic puddles of wretched filth. I find humor in the fact those who consistently return to this place see this degradation as the exact opposite of what it really is. They see the constant dilapidation and ruin as human progress! Such a silly notion I thought, but if required, these people will transform into bloodthirsty savages and fight viciously to uphold their beliefs. Because of this, I take a back seat and leave them to their evolution, knowing full well that their destruction is at hand, largely because of their cherished progress.

After standing in front of the checkout technology for an hour's time, my eyes now bloodshot because of the backlight view screen and my ears now weary of the buzzing electronics and constant noise produced by consumers, I decided I needed a break. I stretched my legs, cracked my bones - my back first, then my legs, then my arms, and then my knuckles - and began the trip to the designated rest area at the back of the shop. But as I walked through aisle after aisle, the lamentable scenes before me conjured up images of yesterday's activity, and I began to ask myself the same questions as the day before.

"So this is what happens when you get old?" I said under my breath as I viewed a decrepit couple struggling with an electronic scooter. The woman, obese, wrinkled, gray, sat in the driver's seat, while the man, fragile, hunched, pale, pressed a series of electronic dials on the technology's main console, occasionally placing his hand on the woman's shoulder as if to reassure her; to tell her that everything was going to be all right. But everything was not going to be all right, you see, because instead of living, you are here fiddling with a useless piece of technology in a center for everything false and unnatural. Your legs do not work for a reason, lady.

I stopped walking for a brief moment as so I could gaze upon the great effort that failed to provide a result. The man, clearly frustrated, began pounding on the console. He soon stopped, but due to pain or his wife's nagging, I cannot be completely sure. Still, the technology remained motionless.

So this must be what age does to our meek, fluid filled, human bodies. Not only are our physical remains rendered obsolete, but also, as was observed yesterday, we as a race involuntarily share our most intimate and disgusting secrets with service sector drones that, in all likelihood, are missing one or two of the more important chromosomes required for standard human development. The combination of the two makes for a being unlike any other in the animal kingdom.

Enough of this, I thought. Leave them be, for they are here performing a ritual and must not be disturbed. Any involvement may scar them for the rest of their lives, which isn't long, and one must not bring more pain upon their arthritic souls.

This ritual I speak of tends to occur within a location that is dedicated to peddling goods at retail prices, and to little surprise, these locations prove to be dense breeding grounds for not only the elderly, but bargain hunters as well. Enough of the elderly, I thought. Moving on.

Vile, worthless, the worst type of people these bargain hunters. They are the sort who are fond of running full speed through aisles, abandoning their children or merely beating them into submission, leaving dismantled displays and broken bones in their wake as their shopping carts, filled with useless wares, chemically enriched foods, and mind numbing electronics, glide over the slave wage polished linoleum floors, only to secure a spot in a crawling checkout lane and complain until their lungs shrink and their throats bleed from excessive use. It is sickening.

"I didn't wear my back brace. I left it in the car. I have a lung condition. Can you help me with my parcels?"

Enough! I did say that, did I not? She found me again. I just cannot escape these creatures. My thoughts drifted back to the old as I attempted to solve this woman's dilemma.

If this is what I have to look forward to as a being currently in possession of superhuman physical regeneration, lightening fast metabolism, and the mental capabilities required to see past the vast array of hypocrisy, lies, and consumerism ever present in our society, I must scurry to discover my place in this world I was unwillingly born into, though mentally only vacation in.

I must hurry to carry out the goals I am meant to accomplish, and die at a respectable age-maybe forty, maybe younger. I would be a swine to believe my death will be at the age of thirty-three, oh Christ, but just because he died at such a wonderful age does not mean that I, a suffering human, cannot be granted the same liberty. I respect you lord, but that does not mean I'm not going to question your methods. Hopefully one day, when the sky turns dark not from your hands, but from our own, you will come to my side, sit me down, and say, "Okay jerk, here it is without the bullshit," because I'll be damned if I am going to sit around and wait for heart attacks and stupidity to completely cripple my mind and body.

If this is to happen, there is only one reasonable solution. Increase the danger.

Three

I careened down the narrow streets at seventy miles an hour, my automobile's tires screeching as I took sudden corners at deadly speed. As I drove, I laughed at the signs that proposed a woman's touch and a feather-like foot. They recommended I slow down to about twenty-five miles per hour and maintain a basic regard for pedestrian life. The fools, I thought.

It was a peculiar scene early in the day. I was driving through dull suburbs and residential neighborhoods like a lunatic, or merely an elderly person mistaking the gas peddle for the break and not having enough sense to notice the change in speed, with no care emanating from my heavy foot.

The thought of flashing blue lights in my rearview mirror and being pulled to the side of the road by the local traffic enforcement squad came to mind as I passed what looked like a patrol car at a small donut stand, a scene that I found immense pleasure in. I wonder what I would say to the law officer bold enough to issue me a speeding ticket.

"The streets aren't safe with scum like you about," I imagined one saying.
"I could say the same about you officer, but I wont, for fear of your ultimate wrath." I expected myself to respond.

I've never been fond of the badge. Here in the suburbs, the police serve as nothing but traffic controllers and mediation between hillbillies and their land feuds, so they don't pay much heed to a mild instigator such as myself. Every now and again though, an officer of the law will show up to ruin a perfectly good time, and from this stems my contempt of these false figures of authority.

I reduced my speed slightly, and rolled down my windows. It was a bright day, and it was very early in the morning. It was the time where the fog has just cleared and the ground and the trees and the grass were still wet with the juices of Mother Nature's late night fornication with Bacchus. He would be proud and erect at the thought of such a scene, I thought.

Off of a stretch of long highway, I took a left into my destination and was immediately taken back at the sight before me.

My destination was full of what first appeared to be human life, and as I made my way into the thick nucleus, shielding my eyes from the cytoplasm and my nose from the horrid stench, I came to the awful realization that many of these beings were not actually alive.

They came to this place in Hearses and urns of different makes and models, colors and chromes, styles and sizes. The zombie elite wore their finest death garbs and their burials suits, but most, the lesser ghouls, were in an assortment of tattered rags and loose pieces of material that exposed what was once flesh.

On legs that were short, unstable, or weakened from daily abuse, the assortment of undead slowly made their way towards the bright light. This light, which amplified the sun and light up the night sky, was only a few hundred feet or so from the back of the assembly.

It was strange, I thought, to see many of these ghouls actually coming out of the radiance, limping back to the place from which they came, all the while their bony, arthritic hands clasped to burlap sacks filled with ghastly products crafted by Goblins, robots, and demons. From my vantage point it seemed as though more were going into the light then coming out, but I suppose that was to be expected in this place that made little sense.

As the exodus from the building continued, there was a vast plethora of visible emotions on the faces of these consumer-dead. Many, especially the more decrepit among them, left with bowed heads, crooked necks, and slumped shoulders. Upon first glance, I believed them to be genuinely distraught over some matter of otherworldly importance, but as the line of dawdling dead progressed, many with the same distraught grimace, I knew I was wrong.

The beings appeared troubled as they had just finished a ritual of sorts. They opened their crusted eyes, stretched their cramped legs, unhinged their foul jaws to expel any noxious gas, and pushed away cover of stone and wood to brave the great wilderness. The journey to their destination is harsh, as the outdoors mocks the undead at every step-life in contempt of death's corruption. After paying tribute to the lord of the manor, the ghouls who make it as far travel back to their coffins, as they no longer have a goal to accomplish.

I imagine this very scene and these very rituals occurring everyday, at all hours, in every city and in every town on this wretched planet. We are doomed, I thought, but this did not stop me from exiting my vehicle. What other choice did I have?

But as I secured my car and made my way towards the light, I noticed that my own body was going though a visible transformation. The closer I came to the brilliant glow that radiated outward, my skin became rough and started to peel, while the underside of my left arm became extremely irritating. I required instant gratification, so I dug my fingernails into my skin, and dragged them back and forth in an attempt to provide some sort of relief.

Blood, flesh, and even bone broke under the pressure of my hands. I opened my mouth to scream, but my tongue had slid down my throat before I produced any sound. My hair blew into the wind as a strong gust came in from the east, leaving me with a baldhead and a caved in skull. My ankles cracked under the weight of my body, and the bone protruded from my skin, leaving a trail of blood and other tissue as I walked.

I crossed through the door and into the light. On the other side, I was no longer deceased, and neither were the people inside, but I knew that appearances are deceiving.

It was here that I encountered a woman who was no older than sixty-five-the age where you are old enough to know everything by sheer experience, though her gruff voice and choice of words told me an ape of limited intelligence could narrate a better story. She went on nonetheless.

It turned out that some degenerate bottom feeder, a real pox on society, one you might find in a dank New Jersey alleyway or a dirty North Vegas bar, had parked his 1996 Jeep Cherokee too close to her small economy car of which I did not catch the brand, making it impossible for her to even enter the driver's side door.

Needless to say, this horrible woman, a vile mound of flesh standing five foot one inch, winkles and all, was sputtering shit at the fact someone dare do this to her. "I should have just parked in the handicapped spot," she kept exclaiming as if she was doing me a personal favor, scratch that, the world a favor, by parking in a spot reserved for those of full physical functionality.

"I'll bet you," she said.
"I don't gamble," I replied behind my dark aviators glasses.
"I'll be you whoever owns this fucking car doesn't speak a god damned word of English."

What a thought. Will this really fix the problem at hand?

"I live with them you know," she went on. "Everywhere I go, I hear Spanish or Portuguese. I close my eyes, and I'm in Florida, I tell my boyfriend, I have a respectable establishment, and it is trash I say. Shit everywhere. They turn everything to shit. I was never a racist before, but I am now."

"Well you are now!" I felt like shouting in her bottle tanned, decrepit face. I felt like shaking her violently, savagely shaking her old bones until there nothing was left but sand and ground up mothballs. I didn't though; I just shook my head in agreement. I am a businessman now. Today was my first day. I am here to do a job, no matter how painful, and do a job I must. She wanted me to solve her problem. Typical, I thought. The elderly think they own everyone. I hope to God I don't get old.

I asked her if it would be acceptable if I went into the store and tried to find the vile culprit. She agreed, but insisted on following me into the building. She did so, mumbling to herself, or was it to me? I'll never know, because if everything goes as planned, I'll never see her again. I made an announcement over the loudspeaker asking the owner of the jeep to halt the purchasing of crap and make his way to the front as so he could solve what was now my problem.

We waited for a short while, maybe one minute, maybe ten.
"I'll bet you," she said.
"You said that already," I quickly said while already picking up the phone receiver to try contacting the owner again.

I knew the owner would not come to the front of the store. English or not, he was afraid. He knew what he did, and he'd rather be thrown in prison then admit he had done wrong to this woman.

"You think he moved the car without coming here?" She asked. Before she even finished, I began walking towards the door to the parking lot. I was more than impatient with this ape now. I had nothing better to do of course, but nothing was better than listening to her.

As I was out the door, I heard a melodic laughter coming from behind the front desk, and I turned my head to see the attractive red-haired girl looking my direction, smiling, and rolling her eyes as if to say, "Dump the bitch. Come talk to me." I gave her a sly smile, a crooked half smile I'm told sets young women's hearts a flutter, as if to say, "okay." So some good did indeed come out of this encounter.

We made our way back to the car, and to her surprise, but not mine, the car was in the same spot, moved only with the rotation of the Earth. That was it. No more.

"Can I try to move your car?" I said, not asked.
"Well, I don't know…I don't want you to scratch it…"

I took the keys from her hand, opened the passenger door, and crammed my six foot four frame into the car made specifically for dwarfs and others of limited stature. I made my way out of the spot without any collisions, and backed into a handicapped spot in the next row.

She said her thanks, and I nodded my head. I'll be glad to see her go, I thought sarcastically, and made my way back into the store to talk to that red-haired girl. I took a quick look, and this time to my surprise, the owner of the black jeep was at her car, and the old women, who had her heart set on telling this person off, was screaming in the face of a large Mexican woman. I shook my head and went back into the store.

Is this really what happens when you get old?

On my way home, the rain was coming down in massive sheets and there was no ending in sight. My chosen path was down a poorly lit road, which might have not been the best of ideas because my windshield wipers were broken. More danger I thought. If I'm lucky, I'll drive into a tree.

I decided to turn on the radio.

"Songs about guns! You've gotta love them! I remember my first experience with a gun. I was about six years old, and my father brought home one of those really old, antique single shot hand cannons…I don't know what they're called, but it was a really big gun, especially for a six year old, you know? Anyway, I asked my father if I could shoot it. He looked at me with a smile on his face and said, "under one condition…you fire all the bullets in that box." There were about twelve shots in the box, so my father taught me how to load the gun and fire it the right way. I remember firing off every single bullet, and it was the most amazing feeling. My shoulder was all black and blue afterward, but it was definitely worth it. *sigh* I haven't fired a gun in a long time. I wish I had one now."

Cut to commercial.

"Jesus Christ," I said as I switched off the radio.

There was desperation even on the radio waves this good eve, so I made my way home in silence, terrified, but welcome, of the darkness that could swallow me whole at any moment.

Is there anything I can do to get out of this mess? I recall having described myself as a blood cell working in the great heart that is America. Fine. Well, now I am a sickle cell. Fuck, I am a blade in them midst of the heart, stabbing and cutting away at all things vital. This is my new choice. Where it will lead, only time can tell.

Chronicles of a Job

End.

Day 6

Day 2

Day 1

Day 1