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John Doe's alarm
went off at six o'clock AM every morning; he was out of bed and
climbing into the shower by six-o-three. He got out of the shower,
dressed and sat down for breakfast by six thirty on the dot. He left
for work at seven AM, returned at five PM, and ate dinner at six thirty
PM. He went to bed at ten thirty and repeated the process all week long.
A certain morning,
on any given day of the week, started out just as any other. John Doe
pulled out of the drive way in front of his square, white, one story
house, the same as all the others on his street, at seven o'clock, and
started for work. At the end of the street, he turned right, onto the
highway, joining the long line of cars driving toward the city. The
highway was two lanes, with a speed limit of fifty miles per hour. The
city-bound lane was packed, but moving at a constant rate. Traffic
never backed up on the highway. It would upset the routine. The
on-coming lane of the highway was empty. At four thirty PM, it would be
full of cars on their way home, and the city-bound lane would be empty.
John Doe steered
his white, two door car into his designated, unmarked parking space in
front of the building in which he worked. The building was a three
story concrete monolith with seven windows on each floor, and a set of
double doors centered on one wall. John Doe got out of his car and
passed through the doors at seven thirty AM. He joined the line
of middle aged men in black suits, white button down shirts and black
ties, trailing from the check in station. John Doe stood at the end of
the line, one foot from the double doors. Behind him, as the door
closed, the lock clicked. The doors would unlock again at three
fifty-nine, as the men left their cubicles.
John Doe checked in
at seven thirty-nine, and entered his cubicle at seven forty. His
cubicle was closest to the check in station. He hung his coat on the
wall of his cubicle, and, in unison with all the other men in the
building, took his seat at seven forty-one. The "in" box on John Doe's
desk was full of xeroxed papers; he took the top paper from the stack,
signed his name in blocked letters on the dotted line at the bottom,
and placed the paper in the "out" box on his desk. He worked at a
constant pace for five hours, taking papers from his "in" box, signing
them, and placing them in his "out" box.
At twelve thirty
PM, a tone sounded through out the building; John Doe stood up from his
desk, and walked out of his cubicle. He stopped at the end of the line
of men heading for the cafeteria. It was easiest to go in single file.
It took less time.
John Doe sat down
at in the chair closest to the cafeteria door, at the table closest to
the cafeteria door. He ate his lunch: a bologna sandwhich, a red apple
and a bowl of soup that came with two plain, unsalted crackers in clear
plastic wrap. After he finished eating, John Doe drank a cup of coffee
that was as black as his tie. John Doe finished his lunch at
one-fourteen and deposited his trash in a black trash can near his
table.
At one fifteen,
another tone sounded, and John Doe left the cafeteria at the front of
the line. He sat down in his cubicle at one twenty, once again in
unison with all the other men in the building. The following two hours
passed by as uneventful as the first five. John Doe did not notice that
his day was very redundant; he had no reason to think of such things.
It was not routine. Thinking was not routine. John Doe continued to
sign his name on the papers from his "in" box and put them in his "out"
box.
At three
thirty-nine PM, the double doors at the front of the building unlocked
with a 'click', just as the third and final tone of the day sounded
through out the building. John Doe did not hear the tone. He was still
signing his name on papers and placing them in his "out" box when he
noticed his coworkers filing past the entrance of his cubicle. There
was always one more paper sitting at the bottom of the "in" box on John
Doe's desk.
John Doe rose from
his desk, put on his coat and waited at the entrance of his cubicle for
the endless stream of drab men in drab suits to pass. There was a
strange feeling settling in the back of John Doe's mind as he waited to
join the end of the line. The feeling was nervousness, thought John Doe
did not know this. John Doe did not know what feelings were. As he
waited, something happened to John Doe that had never happened to him
before : a thought crossed his mind. "I've broken the routine."
That thought, that revelation, was the beginning of John Doe's transformation.
After the first
thought, the second came very quickly."How did I miss the tone?" he
thought. He had been paying attention, or so he thought. Hundreds of
unpleasant ideas hurled at him at a sickening speed. John Doe's vision
blurredand he had to hold on to the wall of his cubicle to keep from
falling down. "What's going to happen to me?" John Doe gasped and
loosened the stiff black tie around his neck.A thing layer of sweat
gleamed on his forehaed.
The last of John
Doe's co-workers marched silently past his cubicle, and John Doe
stepped uncertainly into the end of the line. He stared longingly at
the double doors, a mere forty feet away. The line made it's way,
slowly, towards them. Freedom lingered patiently beyond the concrete
and glass.
"It'll be alright,"
John Doe thought, "I'm sure they take into consideration the fact that
accidents happen. I'm sure this sort of thing happens all the time."
John Doe shivered
violently. Something at the back of his mind told him that nothing like
this had ever happened before.Something told him that nothign was going
to be alright.
The man in front of
John Doe checked out at the station and walked through the double
doors. John Doe followed quickly ehind the man, but the doors closed as
he reached them. His heart stopped as he heard the lock click.
"Oh god..." He
whined. John Doe beat frantically on the glass with sweaty fists. He
screamed at the glass, at the empty building, at the nothing on the
other side of the walls. He screamed at himself.
John Doe pounded on
the glass 'til his fists were raw, screamed 'til he was hoarse.
Defeated, he sank to his knees, resting his hot, damp forehead against
the cool glass. The building was silent, except for the insect-like hum
of the fluorescent lights that checkered the tile ceiling, and the
occasional gasp from the man slumped against the glass doors. John Doe
listened to the hum of the lights with a growing sense of unease. He
glanced frantically around the room with wide eyes. His breathign
gradually slowedm and his thoughts stopped reeling. His eyes landed on
the check-in station, and a flicker of hope rose in his mind. He rose
stiffly and limped to the check-in station. He entered his employee
number into the clock and waited nervously as it processed. His heart
sank as 'invalid number' appeared on the tiny digital screen.
"No, no, no..."
John Doe cried hysterically. "No, no. It's me! It's John Doe, I work
here!" he repeatedly mashed his number on the buttons as he shouted,
and repeatedly, 'invalid number' flashed on the tiny screen. "I've
broken the routine; they've forgotten me." John Doe thought. The
realization terrified him. He darted from the check in station, down a
hallway he had never noticed in the building, just as the clock struck
five PM.
-----I have yet to write transition from that bit to the following-----
His head was
swimming. His surroundings writhed and twisted, a murky black hazed
with dusty yellows. He groaned and tried to move, but his body would
not respond. He opened his eyes slowly; they were damp and slimy, as if
he'd been crying in his unconsciousness. He tried to raise his hand to
wipe the film from his eyes, but his arm merely twitched. Slowly, with
great difficulty, he raised his head enough to look around. Shards of
glass fell from his hair. His neck was painfully stiff.
He looked up and saw his reflection; he was lying in the night sky, surrounded by stars and galaxies.
He forced his
unwilling body to sit up, and looked down. He was sitting on the
surface of a pond, fish of every color swimming beneath him. He leapt
to his feet in a panic; the pond rippled beneath him, shards of glass
splintering everywhere.
Sparking, razor finned fish leapt from the glass pond, and a star fell from the sky and shattered.
He ran blindly in a
random direction, serrated stars falling around him, colorful fish
leaping at him, slicing his legs. He escaped the world of glass just as
it came crashing down, and turned to watch the wreckage splinter and
shatter. A whirlwind of stardust and crystaline water droplets swirled
about him.
Baffled, he turned
to face the world into which he had run. He was standing in the middle
of a field of beautiful, pastel flowers. In he distance, a forest
painted with autumn waved gently in the breeze. He took a step forward,
awed at the world before him. Something crunched beneath his foot, and
he looked down to find himself standing on a small red bird. It was
dead.
Over head, a flock
of birds darted across the sky, silent but for the beating of their
wings. Dead brown flower petals drifted solemnly to the ground in their
wake.
A breeze whipped
across the field, pushing him back a few steps. The field of flowers
took to the air, a flurry of feathers and wings. Slender green birds,
leaves and stems. Red cardinals, roses, poppies. Blue birds, jays,
purple martins, violets and forget me nots. Gold finches, buttercups
and black eyed susans.
The birds over head drifted to the ground, dead petals.
He found himself
standing in the middle of a barren, muddy field. He reached out to
catch a falling petal, but dropped it and ran when a bloody red feather
fell into the palm of his hand. He ran toward the distant forest.
He looked back as
he ran, and when he returned his gaze to his destination, he found
himself sliding through the steaming sands of an endless desert. He
stumbled over a dune, and slid down the other side, surrounded by
steaming gold coins. He got to his feet, sputtering. He began to laugh,
and, eyes wide with glee, he scooped up a handful of coins. They seared
his skin, but he paid it no mind, thoughts swept up with the idea of
riches.
Steaming golden sand slipped through his fingers like silk.
In the rich blue
sky, the sun cracked open ike a great egg shell. It tumbled from the
sky and crashed to the sand ground, raising a great cloud of dust. When
the air cleared, an ocean roared where the sun had fallen.
In the sky, the
phoenix spread it's great wings, and the world was consumed in a sea of
fire. He closed his eyes and recoiled from the flames.His foot splashed
in cool water. He opened his eyes and stared, awestruck.
He was in heaven.
He was standing in
an endless pool of pure, mirror like water. Above him, fluffy white
cluds drifted lazily across a perfect blue sky. Rays of silver sunlight
sparkled in the clean, unblemished air. He sloshed through the water
and stepped onto a broad, flat, moss covered rock. There were many of
them scattered in the pool. He gazed at the beautiful scene, tears
streaming down his face. The beauty and perfection were too much for
him.
He found himself
looking for people or angels, but as far as his mortal eyes could see,
he was alone. His eyes were drawn back to the water, to where he had
been standing. It was murky and disgusting, the water he had tread
through. The rock he stood on was covered in mold and grime.
He gasped and staggered backwards in horror. Everything he touched was tainted with human imperfection.
He looked up, eyes filled with endless sorrow, and found himself staring into the colorless eyes of god.
Then he fell.
He reached up helplessly as he slipped below the water. All he could see was light.
Then there came darkness.
He landed in ankle
deep murk, as black as death. The surface of the black water was shiny;
a black mirror. He clamboured onto a rough, scratchy rock and stared up
into the smoky, stormy sky.
Hell really was
heaven reflected in a dark mirror. Shimmering starshadow filtered
through the thunderheads in the sky as the purest of sunlight hadin
heaven.
A small, bright
white light flickered in the distance, and he leapt off the rock and
ran toward it. The light came from a small white candle perched atop
one of the dingy rocks. He picked it up an examined it.
The flame flickered out, and he was pulled under water by the bony, jealous hands of the damned.
|
bitchy
I have a slinky.
tired
flirty
cheerful
awake
curious
exanimate
This is pathetic.
content
