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Scribe
Join Date: Sep 2005
Posts: 95
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Vegas Boy Chap. 1
Vegas Boy
Chapter One.
The cliché smell of planes itched its way through the tiny 747, up towards the front bathroom, and back towards the far one. My only luggage sat upright to my left. Being the only passenger on the almost completely vacant plane, I idly got the window seat. The clouds outside so great and white in the night sky, they seemed endless. The sky, sprinkled with millions of stars all so isolated over the Atlantic Ocean. That jittery feeling of turbulence lasted about fifteen minutes, and already I was feeling sick, I imagined the plane dropping from its high altitudes of 300,000 feet, just free falling from the sky, helplessly. Closing my eyes I see the wrecked plane burning in a field somewhere as reporters and medics race to the scene, or the plane slowly submerging in the ocean, rescue boats storming to the sinking plane, reporters recording every second of my nameless death. With no documentation of anything sort and every trace of me gone, erased, my life can only be described with an acronym: N/A. The pilot signaled our decent, ETA eight minutes. I maneuvered my way around my lumpy backpack, stuffed, air tight; I head towards the cockpit. Opening the pull-out door to the pilot’s small cabin, I announce my entrance.
“Hello,”
“Hey, we are almost there, sit down” he points to the empty co-pilot seat. The bald and aging man guides the plane to our final destination, as I lower my ass to the seat.
Descending.
The view from up here is blinding, the city glows so beautifully, and we pass it, the tremendous all exclusive resorts live on their own, and we pass them, the scattered farms, passed them too. The huge open fields, white sand beaches, shantytowns, endless roads, all passed. You only get a second to appreciate life in this form, everything down there, surpasses you. They have things to do, people to see, time to waste, agendas. What I have, I don’t know, but it’s none of that. They walk their dogs, walk their kids, drive around, go shopping, sweep their porches’, wipe their asses, all looking busier than the other. That imaginary state of work, where any form of progress is illuminated by mowing your lawn, cleaning the gutters.
“I never caught your name, you know with the rush and all,”
I never gave it.
“Oh buddy, lighten up, we in Jamaica!”
A bunch of broken homes, all passed.
“Well I’m Jim, we’ve got about four minutes. What’s the rush, I was kinda in the middle of something.” He said squinting as millions of little sun rays break through the windshield lighting up the cockpit.
I said no questions.
“Jeez, its something bad ain’t it?” the sky now above us.
Three minutes.
You want the truth, the whole goddamn truth, I asked.
“If I didn’t than why would I have asked? Come on spit it out bud, ain’t no secret too bad for ol’ Jimmy,” his voice so childlike, innocent. This was the man who was your alcoholic uncle, the drunk at the bar, hollering at those young college girls, the old perv you were sure he’d experience the feel of pepper spray to the face more than once, and yet I felt bad for him. Stupid ol’ Jim.
“Well come on lets hear it,” raising his voice in that dumb sarcastic tone.
The truth is, the reason we are on this plane, the reason we are flying, not even god himself understands. I did something terrible, beyond terrible. And then, everything, everything I knew, met, said, held, loved, talked with, seen, heard, everything just disappeared. I did, I’m telling you I did it, on the news the man they are looking for, that’s me. On the radio, they’ll describe me: six feet, male, brown hair, brown eyes, on the run. In the paper they’ll just show what i've done, not what I said, there will be no quotes, no information that we ever met, nothing, just the ashes. And when it all ends, which you and I will never witness, but when it all ends, we will be the catalyst to something great, something greater than us on this plane, something greater than what we left behind, something greater than everything we have ever been taught. We are the last generation of any significant improvements, no longer can our society improve, we are running on empty, and soon our generation will be blamed for everything, we, as people have nothing left to live for, and we are getting ticked off. Bored. Becoming insomniac, ADHD, OCD, children popping pills the way the generations before us did with candy, any little problem and you’ve got a prescription. I have anxiety, my teeth hurt, I cant focus, my wife doesn’t love me, I masturbate too much, I eat too much, I watch too much porn, I fell in love; all of that, everything you need, our generation has a solution for everything and its over the counter. And me, I’ll be the scapegoat, yeah he’s the one, he did it. I don’t care, but once we realized our lives are going nowhere, we disconnect ourselves from reality, through media, drugs, whatever, we have an answer for everything, and the directions are right there on the side bottle. Take one every four hours with water. We are no longer a whole, just a bunch of individuals waiting for the next opportunity to cut the next guy off, to fuck, to get there first, to beat each other, showcase our accomplishments.
Two minutes.
One day, the world will rebuild, maybe I’m wrong, maybe what I’ve done will affect nothing, and influence no one, but if you had the opportunity to change the world, would you?
“Man what the fuck are you talking about,” he looks at me blindly, with that dumb look. His confusion or irritation is shinning, written on his fucking face.
“You crazy or some shit…Your not the,”
I nod my head,
“Oh shit”
One minute.
“Why the fuck would you tell me that, you are a sick motherfucker you know that, I can’t….I have to,” baffled, his words stumble upon themselves, his eyes widen, he swallows, and then swallows again. He continues to control the plane as he pioneers it to landing.
“Why the fuck….what are you thinking, I can’t believe…why the fuck would you tell me.” We hit the ground; the small plane bounces a little as it runs down the long runway.
“Why would you……..”
Dead man tells not tales.
Last edited by egg1291 : 05-04-2008 at 10:36 PM.
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