You and I are We

You and I are We

The sign blinked in the slow manner that signs in store windows do; on…off… on… off. He stood there watching it from the window of her hospital room across the street. He listed to the sound of the machine she was hooked up to and realized that it was in time of the sign. Beep… beep… on… off… beeps…beep.

You and I are WeHe looked over his shoulder and saw that she was still deep in a peaceful sleep. That was good he thought. With the hell of pain, she’d been through the last few days. He wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or the meds that had allowed her to finally enter into a deep sleep. He didn’t care what it was, as long as she slept. The lights in the room were low; he turned and sat down in the chair by her bed.

There was a soft knock at the door. He looked up and saw the nurse slowly enter. “How is she?” she asked in that stage whisper all nurses have. He wondered if they had a class for that in nursing school.

“Asleep.” He watched his wife move in her sleep. The nurse moved to the machines looked at them, checked the IV drip, then straighten the bed covers and left. The woman who, for 46 years had been his rock and compass still slept but uttered a slight groan of pain in her sleep, if he lost her, he wouldn’t know what to do. Should he think like that? No, No she’s gonna be fine, just fine.

Just a cold, the doctor had said. Admit her just to be on the safe side, they said. So they could keep an eye on her, they said. At her age, they didn’t want to take chances. That had been six days ago and she had been going downhill the whole time she had been here. He wouldn’t have minded it so much if they could tell him what was wrong. A place or a thing, even a person, somewhere to vent his anger, his fear, frustration, but they could tell him nothing.

Bottle of pour out blue and pills of drugs on white background

Pink and Blue I Love You

Bottle of pour out blue and pills of drugs on white backgroundGilda stood at the bottom of the stairs with fists planted on hips and forced a furious furrow onto her smooth brow. “For goodness sake, Beatrice, haven’t you changed yet? We have to get going soon!”

“I know, I know. Sorry, I was just finishing my book.”

“It’s Friday night. Read tomorrow. Read during the week. Just don’t read on Friday night. Bookworm!”

Beatrice shook her head. “What’s a bookworm?”

“It’s someone who’s always reading.”

“But a worm? I mean, what’s that about? How can a worm live in an e-reader?”

They stared at each other, from the landing to the bottom of the stairs. “Ohhhh! You’re jiving me again, aren’t you?” Gilda knew full well that Beatrice didn’t completely share her excitement for the party scene.  Beatrice was a shy (but not with Gilda), quiet thing that could live a full existence in her room with her e-books and her imagination. She was also, in Gilda’s humble opinion, the most drop-dead gorgeous creature in the entire universe. Still, even the pinnacle of beauty can try a girl’s patience every once in a while. In fact, it was pretty much <em>de rigueur</em>. “So, have you even decided on the color yet?”

Sally Picked Sea Shells by the Sea Shore

One day Sally went down to the seashore to pick seashells. She had always loved the shore. Maybe because it was a transitional place- an in-between place caught between two distinct worlds. Unable to decide where it belonged or what it even was. Much like Sally herself.

And she loved the tides endless flow. Its dynamic way of ceaseless ebbing and flowing, becoming and unbecoming as the waves build themselves up- in vain- only to be destroyed by their own very ambitions. Crushed by the weight of their own desire to reach the shoreline and stretch along the sand as if only to kiss the tips of Sally’s toes.

“What a struggle” Sally thought as she watched the wave’s endless birth, death, and rebirth. They all traveled a thousand miles or more just to be washed up on this sand.

The World We Deserve

http://www.bloodyloud.com/shanghai-layers-photographer-makoto-sasaki/

Picture Credit Makoto Sasaki

I’ve left my tower before.
I don’t see what the big deal is.
There’s sun and wind out there like there is in here.
Same sun, same wind.
The city at ped level is interesting sure, but not as interesting as say, Egypt during the Ptolemy’s
reign or Mexico city circa 1400­ and I can go to those whenever I want without leaving my
room.
Everything I could ever need is here.
I’m sure things are much the same elsewhere.
There’s no reason to take RL bodies on excursions where an AV of one sort or another will do.
I’ve read that people used to spend hours in airports, more hours on planes, to go to faraway
places and have meetings or maybe go on vacations.
I read these things but they do not register deeply. How could they?
Everything here is seconds away.
Others spend more time out there, in TRW, if not in their ‘actual’ bodies. Droners are
everywhere, for instance. And there are auta vehicles for a more hands-on experience of
non­local earth.
You can ACTUALLY (vicariously) climb mountains, or fly kites, or hike, or whatever- ­if you’re willing to pay shipping you can be one step from anywhere.
I have several humaniform auta in storage, ready to be transported anywhere in the world I
might like to see in ‘person’.
I never know where to go.
There are too many choices, too many experiences.
Half the time I sit in my room alone with the walls set to white.
Thinking…

1984: Rogue State

1458467872czgsn“My fellow delegates,” the president of the Eurasian Union began in addressing the General Assembly of the United Nations of the world, “esteemed prime minister of the United States of North America and the president of the United States of South America, premier of the Greater East Asian Wellness Coalition, I stand before you today to speak of the last vestige of the last major war. I stand before you to insist that the world can no longer wait for this vestigial appendix to wither away and collapse. Oceania Airstrip One, as England has called itself since coalescing into a totalitarian hermit nation in the wake of the last great war, can no longer be left to its own devices to oppress its own people, to starve them, to control their minds with fantastic lies. This island, sealed off from the world, has too long been placated to and allowed to continue its “INGSOC” programme of the brainwashing of an entire population. At this moment an English citizen is being tortured, at this moment sadistic INGSOC scientists are working toward removing any pleasure from life, at this moment, the English language itself is being whittled away into meaninglessness.

Target Acquired

train-station-691176_1280Marcus watched the man closely. He was moving with a powerful stride down the busy street towards the underground subway station. Marcus knew that there was only one chance and it was coming up soon. He nodded briefly; the signal was sent.

An older woman stepped out in front of the man, lugging a wheeled suitcase, three bags of groceries, and a purse on her right arm. Her hair was a magnificent site, tight curls, and blue-gray in color. Marcus watched as the man wrinkled his nose at the new obstacle. Clearly, this man had more important things to do.

With a cry, the woman buckled to her knees right in front of the man, and Marcus seized the opportunity.

“Oh my goodness!” exclaimed the woman as cans of peas and a box of linguine scattered on the ground. “Oh, bother!”

The man stooped down, and picked up one of the cans, handing it to her outstretched hand.

“Are you all right, Miss?” he inquired politely, his eyes glancing toward stairs down to the subway.

“Oh! Oh yes, of course,” she said. “Just a bit unsteady on my feet, I’m afraid. These heels are such a bother, sometimes!”

The man stood up and felt something brush lightly against his side. He turned to see Marcus striding past him going the opposite direction. His cell phone was to his ear talking earnestly.

“That man’s going to get robbed, talking on the phone like that,” he said with a grin. “Not paying attention at all. Here, let me help you up.”

The lady smiled up at him and reached for his outstretched hand.

“Why, thank you, young man,” she said. “I really wish there were more people in the world like you.”

The man hauled her up to her feet.

“Are you going to the subway?”

“Oh no, my apartment is only a block or two past. I take the bus home and then walk the extra bit. Good for the health, you know.”

“Well, please forgive me, but I must get going. I’ve got a train to catch. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, of course, dear.”

The woman smiled and waved goodbye as the man dashed down the stairs to the subway platform. He would make it of course. No sense in having him stay around here longer than needed. They had planned it that way.

The lady shuffled down the street another block and turned down a nearby alley. She pulled off her wig and tossed it into a nearby trash dumpster and itched her short-cropped hair. Those things were always so itchy.

“I’m surprised you threw that thing away,” said Marcus from the other end of the alleyway. “You make a pretty good old lady.”

“Gee, thanks,” said the woman dryly. “So when is it your turn to be the decoy, huh? That’s six marks in a row that I’ve had to wear this outrageous getup.”

“What, don’t like being a grandma in heels anymore, Shelia?”

Shelia frowned.

“No, I don’t. So when do I get to do it?”

Marcus turned away, motioning her to follow.

“When you get better at being unnoticeable,” he said.

Shelia sighed.

“So what’d we get?” she asked, widening her step to catch up to him. She grabbed at his arm, trying to peek over his shoulder. Marcus smiled slightly; Shelia’s head barely came up to it.

“Later,” he admonished. “We’ll take a look at what we gathered today when we get back home. Right now we need to get away from here.”

“You’ve already dumped the wallets, right?”

“Of course. Scoop out the billfolds and leave the rest. We don’t need anything that can be traced, right?”

“Right,” said Shelia, smiling. She took off her heels and placed them into her wheeled luggage case and brought out her favorite sneakers. She slipped them on her feet, and Marcus laughed slightly as she sighed in relief.

“Feel better now?”

“Much.”

“All right,” he said reaching for her hand. “Let’s go home.”

Detective Lynch sat down on the subway bench and exhaled. Hopefully, the repairs to his car would be finished soon. This daily commute to the subway was getting quite exhausting. Still, it was nice to have someone else doing the driving for once. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a brief moment, and felt his jacket shift against his shirt. He frowned.

The tell-tale lump of his wallet and his badge were gone.

“Shit!”

1984: Goldstein Lives

Emmanuel Goldstein awoke slowly, as the sky became just grey and he starkly refused to fall back to sleep. There was much to be done in the free world and billions counted on his leadership. The King’s room in Versailles had been adorned according to his orders, and the rest of the palace opened up for the staff necessary in running Eurasian battle operations.

Goldstein ran his hands over his face, over his stark white hair and his goatee. He blinked several times and reached over to the ornate nightstand and grasped his steel-rimmed glasses, which lay next to a framed photograph of him walking with Big Brother. Goldstein carefully turned aside the plain wool blankets and stepped out onto the carpet. He was a simple man and there were many without. Even if he were living in a palace, he would do so simply.

The Confession

Are you ready? Are you recording this? Good, I will tell you everything then, just as we agreed. You can decide if I am insane or evil once you have my confession but until then, please don’t interrupt.

Now, I like the traditional ways.  Old fashioned? Well, yes you could call it that.  Ceremonial knives, contracts in blood … I suppose I ought to be moving on with the times; emails and Skype.  It feels wrong.  Maybe I’ll just go, minimalist.  Verbal agreements and a gun?  Oh, it’s tricky being what I am.

You see, so few people really believe in souls and demons anymore.  In a way, that is so incredibly liberating.  So good for business.

One Fine Day

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The work of an evil despot is never done.

How many mornings must I awaken to spit at the dawn? How many babies must I dump from their cradles? How many churches must I put to the torch? It’s never enough.

It all becomes tiresome after a while.

Oh, I am so sick of being evil.

“How many kittens must I strangle, Bradly?”

“…um… seven, Master?”

“No, no. That was rhetorical.”

“What, Master?”

“Nevermind. Look, I don’t feel like raping the prisoners today. Would you handle that?”

The hunched little man eyed me suspiciously, wondering what the catch was, I suppose.

“…as… as my Master commands…”

“It’s not a reward, Bradly- it’s a punishment. It’s more evil if I make you do it. I’m too attractive to really inspire horror.”

He brightened, slicking his greasy black hair out of his pockmarked face with filthy fingernails.

“Oh, I see Master. VERY evil yes. I am quite hideous.”

“Good. off you go then… I mean MUWHAWHAWHAWHAWHAW!”

“Very good, master.”

The ugly troll of a man limped off, dragging the leg I’d broken in a feigned fit of rage once when it had seemed appropriate. it had never healed correctly.

No doctors in my realm.

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