Enlightened (594 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 2 on 15 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by r0fl (View user info) at 2006-03-24 01:29:14 EST
Staring out the high rise, I gazed at the metropolitan scene below and afar, sipping my coffee.
Yellow ants hustled to and fro, picking up customers, bringing them to airports, pubs, gentleman's clubs. The Atlantic's blue hue was deeper than usual.
My lips pressed against the ceramic of my mug, and the hint of hazelnut tickled my senses.
My body began to relax, it's collective being sighing with relief, and knowing caffeine was on the way.
My translucent reflection in the high-rise building appeared at an angle, and I gazed at myself as I licked my lips.
My hair was in a state of dishevelment, with scratched glasses and an untied left Reebok. The collar of my long-sleeve hunter green polo shirt flipped up on the right, despite my best efforts. I didn't own an iron. I was a dude, ya know.
I read the slogan on my mug: World's #1 Dad.
Ha. I didn't even have any kids. Jokes on you, silly mug.
I trudged to the elevator, pressed L-for-lobby, and stuck my hands in my pockets. Alone in the elevator again. The 25-floor descent commenced.
"Good mornin' Barry."
They never, ever, left me alone.
"Leave me alone," I said. "I'm going to work. We'll talk later. I promise.
I don't want to see you again." I warned, with the emphasis on the contraction.
Sometimes I saw them, sometimes I didn't. They usually disappeared when I took my pills.
Goddamnit, where were they?
I fumbled in my pockets, looking for an amber bottle with a childproof cap. I always packed my pills in my pockets before bedtime. Momma taught me so.
I swallowed two of the capsules, and finished my coffee; now in its portable mug. The cuff of my jeans was stuck in the heel of my shoe, and I bent down to fix it.
The exhalations through my nose felt hot and irritable; I must be getting sick.
Of course I am. Right before the March of Dimes.
My right heel resembled a pivot point for my foot. I always swiveled it when I was nervous. Stop & Shop donated a percentage of profits to the March of Dimes this month. They needed everyone to contribute, encouraging donations. Who's gunna wanna donated to a dummy... especially who's sick?
I yawned, full, and stood on my tiptoes. I needed more sleep, but I could never get enough.
The dreams lately have been vivid, even lucid. I'd always awake at the same time, to men and women screaming, the smell of decay. My sweat would soak my sheets almost nightly. I owned five sets of sheets. Five!
I passed an endless see of people on the street, dressed exquisitely in fine clothes.
When you're young I guess, that stuff matters to you more. I'd rather a decent meal and a decent fuck downtown, than look good for a bunch of strangers.
I walked into my home store, waved to Pedro my supervisor, and clocked in. G tried to talk to me again, but I promptly told him no. He needed patience, just like the rest of us. I descended the steps, my right hand tracing the rail except for the spot I got a sliver last time.
Register 6 needed a bagger, and I was the man for the job.
"He was talkin' to himself again, man. I heard that shit. Fucker's deranged," Taylor whispered to Pedro.
"Quiet dude, I know. We all know," Pedro replied.
They got tax breaks for hiring 'tards like Barry. He bagged 'em in paper and plastic, and customers didn't complain. Who the fuck cares?
On break I sat down and unwrapped a Chewy Granola bar. Quaker S'mores, I mumbled, life couldn't get much better.
"They need you, Barry. Lead them."
My ears pricked, recognizing G's voice.
"G, I told you, I'm WORKING. I don't need you here... bothering me at work."
I turned around, able to see G this time. He was dressed in beat up wrangler jeans tied with some rope as a belt, and a T-shirt that read D.A.R.E. - Drug Abuse Resistance Education.
My buddies couldn't be visiting me at work. They only talked to me at home, him and M knew that.
The half-inch protrusions of hair at the base of his neck, where his cornrows concluded, trembled under the heating vent he stood below.
I could smell him. He smelled of baby-powder and cornstarch. I was starting to get pissed.
"I wanna talk G, but I got to do work. Somebody's gotta pay for the three-cheese dominoes at 1:30 in the morning after the pipe, right?"
"Lead them Barry. Take them home. The time has come. The hour is at hand."
Fucking G, he always talked in that double-talk bullshit.
My eyes boiled over, the room suddenly tinted a shade of scarlet. I swung at G, frustrated at his double-talk and innuendo. He appropriately dodged my assault, as well as my next. I ended up thrashing the entire break-room, shoulders heaving with exertion. It took a few minutes before security came to get me, but I was used to that by now.
"Fuck G, this is the third job you've cost me!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
The guards carried me by my armpits, my heels no longer a pivot, but an anchor.
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I told the man in glasses twice already. G always talks to me, in jeans and a t-shirt. M comes only once in awhile, usually dressed in a suit.
Days that I see them both; I usually take double my pills like Dr. Glover said, and call him to talk.
The place they took me was nice, except for the tests. They took my blood all the time. 30 years old - you think I need some of that blood.
"I may be dumb, but I ain't stupid," I'd tell him. He'd nod that he understood, scribbled in his notebook, and let me go.
I got back to my room, and watched some T.V. Space Ghost was on. I love Space Ghost.
"We've been trying to tell you Barry, listen to us," M pleaded.
I stared at his neatly shaved face, closely buzzed head and broad shoulders.
"How'd you get in here M?" I demanded, until he slowly consoled me, calmed me down.
M always had a way of calming me down. "Sometime soon, it will be time," M told me, and there were two distinctive knocks on the door.
It had to be Charlie, the evening chow man.
Charlie was black, stocky, but tall. He had a swagger about him. I liked him most here. His dark skin contrasted quite nicely with the all-white outfit he wore, as well as all the others.
"Pork chops today my man," he told me, to my utter and absolute delight.
I hadn't had pork chops in like 10 years.
He dropped off my tray, left, and told me to sleep well. He left another amber bottle of pills on the nightstand, to help me sleep.
I devoured the chops, as well as the mashed potatoes and corn and lime-green Jello for dessert, all with a spork.
I picked up the bottle of pills, and read the label:
Niripsa 25 mg. Take Every Night At Bedtime.
I took the capsule, and finished the rest of my chocolate milk.
Gabe and Mike showed up, telling me that this was my last chance. The drugs were already in my system I told them, and closed my eyes. They can find someone else to lead their people. I was tired, and them chops were good.
I woke up to the dream again, only I wasn't sweating. And this time, the screams outside the barred windows and doors echoed throughout the facility.
I swung my legs out of the bed, stubbing my toe on the linoleum.
The screams continued. This was real.
"Gabe, Mike?"
User Reviews
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2006-06-05 23:51:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Out of all of 'em, still my favorite.
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2006-03-25 00:40:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Snark (user info) at 2006-03-24 20:07:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"Eh, gotta nuke somethin."
Submitted by DCWoody (user info) at 2006-03-24 14:35:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by jack11058 (user info) at 2006-03-24 14:03:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2006-03-24 10:10:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2006-03-24 06:17:48 (#)
Ranking: 2
Eating a pork chop with a spork sounds like a chore.
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I don't think I've ever gotten a 2 from you. That just made my day.
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2006-03-24 09:52:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2006-03-24 06:17:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Eating a pork chop with a spork sounds like a chore.
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2006-03-24 04:06:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-24 03:37:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
You should check out the short story "We Can Get Them For You Wholesale" by Neil Gaiman. This reminded me a bit of that.
Submitted by the_lone_stranger (user info) at 2006-03-24 02:43:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I read it.
It sucks for him that the last thing he did before the end of the world was stub his toe on the linoleum.
Beer Turtle's comment was surprisingly accurate. My wife is the craziest person I know. I have the scars to prove it.
Submitted by beer-turtle (user info) at 2006-03-24 02:11:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Never assume you're crazy just because you hear voices or see people that others cant.
You could be receiving divine instruction...
I'm sure there were scoffers when Moses came down from the mount saying he had a great talk with a flaming shrubbery and told him what to chisel into stone.
Everyone is crazy to someone somewhere, usually they find that person and marry them though.
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2006-03-24 01:51:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-24 01:47:12 (#)
Ranking: 2
Should have been "Joke's" but that's a minor point.
I liked this. And sure I got it. It was a metaphor for nuclear war, right?
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You bastard, you always find shit that's wrong with my posts.
Yeah, pretty much fit in any type of end-of-the-world scenario. Thanks for pickin' up on it.
Submitted by HawthorneHeights (user info) at 2006-03-24 01:47:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I understood it...
+2 Michael
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-24 01:47:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Jokes on you, silly mug.
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Should have been "Joke's" but that's a minor point.
I liked this. And sure I got it. It was a metaphor for nuclear war, right?