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Member
Join Date: Aug 2005
Location: SA Western Cape
Posts: 8
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The doorway, the ignition and the enter key.
This is a bit abstract, not a conventional story and of a difficult read. Also actually a bit to large for a short story. I would appreciate any feedback.
The doorway the ignition and the enter key.
She walked slowly over the wooden floor. It was matted wood, scored with slight signs of rot. The type of floor that by right, should make a loud creaking noise. None came, only the slight sound of her bare footed walk was apparent over the soft rhythmic patter of rain outside. She walked as slowly and softly as only those who have no fear of being heard can. The hallway was dark, apart from the luminescent glow of a television, emitted beneath the doorway to her left. Her eyes had adapted hours earlier and she did not move with the awkward, almost falling motion akin to those, walking in the dark. Her movements were nearly gracious and calculated as she had a confidence typical of any one, moving through an environment mundanely familiar. The boxer short like pyjama pants and short cut top she wore left little to the imagination, her long dark hair falling over her bear shoulders added a mysterious sensuality, no amount of clothing ever could. The slight aroma of her distinct smell of excitement, mixed with the wet and soaps from the shower she had, made her more alluring and tempting than the sharp chemical smell of any perfume could ever attempt to. Her deep green eyes focussed on the door handle in front of her, the play of light made them seem unnaturally exquisite. She came to the door and stopped. All her apparent confidence, lost in the blink of a delicate green lake. She was suddenly a young girl again, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, as the realization came of what she was about to do. (I came this far, I may as well keep going) she thought grabbing on to the few moments of courage, this gave her, she reached for the door handle. Yet as her hand reached and gripped, the courage faded again. (I can at least see if he is still awake) she opened the door wide and finally the creak that was missing earlier... came.
The boy loved cars, there was no other way to put it. As, another destitute child of the city, he was called a beggar and much worse, by those who were his financial betters. The fact of the matter is, he is far more than that, he is a dreamer, he saw the cars, on the roads that passed him and his rusty opened can, there for their pity. At night he dreamed of those cars and how it would be to drive them. How it must feel, to have the wind blowing through your hair, with the top down and the plush leather interior pressing against your back. How it must feel to drive past those dirty ugly faces and not be one of them. At night as the cold and rain pressed down on him and his carton boxes, this dream above all others, offer warmth and escape. His lungs woke him, the wracking cough that in recent times became stronger, had stolen from him: another of those pleasant moments that he never found in the waking world. Yet it was not accompanied by the swearing it normally lured from his alley companions, as if it had made no sound. He knew the instant that it did wake him, that he would not find his safe place again, at least not in this corner tonight. He carefully moved the bulk of his coverings away, knowing the bitter cold that did follow, would cut through any remnants he had of warmth. The boy stood up slowly, careful not to draw attention from any possible onlookers. He walked barefooted to the nearest corner, to move a sufficient amount of his threadbare clothes, too be able to relieve his bladder. The pungent stench of his own urine struck him softly, as he could barely recognise it, over the rest of the smells that defined him. Having done so, he righted his pants and various lairs of clothing, walking down the alley. Beggars were a pragmatic lot and he slept near a night club, for evenings such as these. Begging at such places was dangerous, but could be very rewarding. A drunk, may give you a very bad beating, as he had experienced several times. Or he may give you enough money to last you two days, something he had only had twice. This was a risk he was willing to take, knowing the cough would rob him of any pleasure, not knowing how true this was. He chose his approach to the brightly neon lit building carefully. It was just another seedy building, chosen for its low rent and large rooms, more so than any other considerations by the owners. He kept to the dark, knowing someone was less likely to beat him near the front of the establishment. Nor did he want his captive audience, to see his approach and be able to evade him easily. As he stalked the side of the building, he glimpsed from the corner of his eye his truest desire. He did not know the names, of the vehicles he so longed for, nor even the differences between them, but too his left was a car... So out of his imagination, that he stopped in mid stride. His dirty face, fell into a blank expression of amazement, one only seen in the truly young and almost never in those as world wary as he. He stole these moments, knowing any one could see him and ruin his plan, he walked over to the dark aerodynamic shape. The interior had an even darker leather shine to it, than the black metallic paint could offer. The convertible roof, was drawn back in to the trunk cabin made for this purpose. Protected from the rain by the building’s slanted roof high above, that covered the bulk, of this side of the road, beneath the same shroud. He stood in front of it... for what seemed a life time, simply staring. Then he saw the glitter of metal inside, knowing it could be only one thing. For the briefest of moments he hesitated and then he jumped at it, his upper body clearing the door and falling inside as his hands grabbed on to the key chain. The animal symbol of the vehicle’s make on it, pressing deeply into his palm in a delightful form of slight pain. He righted himself sitting in the driver’s seat, with his feet on the appropriate paddles and he had the key in the ignition in an instant. Having moved with the jack rabbit reflexes, he still possessed at such youth. His heart beat through his chest with the exertion and as the last drops of rain, that had not been splashed on the interior of the sports vehicle came dripping down his face, he turned the key. Not even doubting the action for a split second’s, worth of hesitation. Then... the delayed roaring sound came, of the body wrecking cough.
The man typed for all he was worth (This one counts) he thought to himself (If I screw up here it is final, go to jail, straight to jail, do not pass go, do not collect... go straight to jail). In his time of contemplation, he slapped his pen against his neck, in a close approximation to that of the rain against the windows outside, of the high rising building. The only light available, in the soulless cubicle inflected office space, being the glow from the screen in front of him. It made his sharp features look strangely alien, no more so though then his general handsome athletic build, in contrast to his perceived occupation. The pen fell to the floor by his bare feet, he hated working with shoes on, even when the carpet beneath his feet was this cheap, easy to clean, synthetic matter. He preferred that, to wearing shoes. He stared down, the click of the ink cartridge never came, picking up the offending pen he thought, not for the first time this night, how dangerous his current action was. He was using the desktop of some lower level user, knowing that the track would most likely never be traceable this far back, but not wanting to take a chance. Placing it on the table in front of him, he started typing again, moving through the accounts as a man possessed, one password and username prompt shooting past after another. He wasn’t supposed to have access to any of this. A strong disinfectant smell was probing the air, from the potent chemicals used earlier that evening by the cleaning crew. The same reason, he picked this occasion to go about his work. He wove through front ends and back doors alike, as only those who had spent months planning could. This was what he had wanted to do, since starting in the company. Industrial espionage was the general term used, to him it was more a matter of taking from the man. The flow and ebb of programs had finally brought him to his destination, he viewed and inserted the high capacity memory stick, he had sneaked in for this reason. According to the security system, he was already out of the building hours earlier, the cameras in this area had been disabled for more than a week previously, by him. Once he had the information he would sit on it for a week, before selling it and stay with the company for another six months, before leaving on the premise, that he wanted to start his own little venture. The funds would be safely secured in an anonymous of shore account. He would of course start some small company, on his chosen retirement island, (one can never be too careful) but it would be something very low key. Which scarcely requires his attention. He played with the pen again, before pressing enter to start copying. The consenting tap, tap, irritating him and as he tapped too hard, the pen fell again. He pressed the enter key and then... came the click.
(White, a sickly creamy almost yellow white) That was the first discernable thought she had. Then she realised it was a table, this colossal thing in front of her, was a table. The surface was like that of a golf ball, only the dents were minute in comparison, the entire thing was round and stretched for several feet in all directions. She looked up and saw the other two sitting to her left, at this distance she could not make out what gender the child was, but it was clear that it was a creature from the street. The layers of dirt and grime on the ragtag clothing apparent. Not so, with the man further on sitting next to it. His trendy suit and shirt, along with his well sculpted features, made him very attractive. The entire area was covered in a thick cloud, reminiscent of mist. It was more of a solid presence than moisture and the feeling was oppressive, with the lower visibility, enforcing the sensation of being closed of by this constant pressure. She tried to speak but could not want too enough.
The boy looked to his right and saw with his light green intelligent eyes, a lady in threadbare clothing. He didn’t wonder how he had gotten there or where this was. All he did was look to see if he still had all of his things and who was near him. To his left was a smartly dressed man. The room if one wanted to call it that, was too large for the thick cloud to be the only reason he could not see the walls. He knew this was not something he had come across before and he instinctively realized that the other two did not yet understand, just how different this place was. He kept quite and looked, listened and smelled. For he knew this place was beyond him and those were the only things he could safely do.
The man attempted to stand and found himself almost shifting his weight before the need left him. He fought it, he did everything in his power to yell, but found that all he really wanted badly enough and managed to do, was a very low growl. Like a simple negative sentiment compacted in to a sound. The type of noise one might make, in regards to something mentioned that you disapproved of, but not enough to refocus your attention and make a statement about. He battled bravely but found himself contemplating sitting for a short while.
They were in front of the semicircle formed by the sitting, mismatched trio. Perhaps more so than they were around them, or maybe they were facing the inner back of the belly of the beast, that is, these almost three. They appeared, similar as one would think, of a spec of dust on the inner lens of the eye. They were there, on the surface and yet they were not. They did not have any visual feeling, at least not in the sense that a person could identify a forgotten memory. Yet there they were.
“Thieves we are, sensations, smell, touch, sound, sight, are what we take from you cattle of this life Feeding on that instant before the sensation reaches the chosen being, we absorb the essence and thrill in it, leaving only a tired husk of sensation for you cattle to experience”
“We are here to settle a wager”“Where we came from, who we are and where we will be Doomed to never know, we toy with what we do know”“As the previous victor we play last...” Came the sentence some how discernable for the first time as having come, from the one that is not three in the middle.“And as we went second, the last time, it is us to play first, now “
Came the reply from the one that is not three to the left.
There was a gun in front of the man. As certain as he was of the gun, now in his hand, he knew there was only one bullet, waiting to run the length of the barrel and at a tremendous speed, smash through his head. He gripped the killing thing by the feet. This could be the chamber... that held the tiny piece of metal capable of shattering through him, as a drop of water can part fine sand. Or it could not and one of the others will face the sensation of metal penetrating and obliterating them.The one that is not the three to the left, seemed to become slightly more vivid. Perhaps tangible would be more accurate? However that word insinuates a consistency, which can not be associated with them. The man put the vicious thing to his head, thought about his life, what his odds were and close his grey slightly green eyes. He let fall the hammer. Nothing happened.
“Next it is us”
The woman had seen the man look at the two shot glasses in front of him. He had downed the liquid that looked like water, in one motion and discarded the other. Now she could see there were two glasses in front of her, both appeared to have water in them. However she knew this was an illusion, while one held the liquid of life, the other had a potent acid in it. One that would burn through her and snuff the light of life as surely as a fish would die outside of water. She thought about which one the man had drunk, she considered the order in which the lethal substance would have been arranged, if she had placed it in front of three people. She contemplated this and came to the conclusion that there was no way of knowing, how this was done. The one that is not three to the right, if direction applied here, stiffened slightly or became more vivid as this seemed to be an indication of their mental state, as she came to her decision.She grabbed the glass to her right, the same as the one the man before her had chosen and she allowed gravity to let the possible destruction slide down her pristine throat. The water tasted sweetly refreshing.
“It is us, and if left undecided we all go again”
Came the almost apprehensive statement, of the one that is not three in the middle. Now the other two tensed slightly as well.
The boy looked at the bomb in front of him, it had two red wires sticking out between the strange putty, that he new was an explosive. He had seen that the woman and the man had chosen the wire to the right. He did what his instincts told him. He did not, think about what the others had done, nor did he think of what would be the best choice. He simply ripped both wires out and threw the bomb at the creatures in front of him.
There was a moment of silence following the disappearance of the bomb, it had not exploded and had simply ceased to exist before it could strike any of the figures. The boy was gone from the table. The one that is not three in the middle, became clearer and one could discern the short stature, the hollowed hungry face... of the child.
“Then it is settled, we win again. This will be our new vessel, until we play again, only the present shall have a new vessel.”
The thing that was the boy turned and walked away. The other two followed as they walked, passing countless amounts of the colossal tables, far larger then the one they had just used.
The man and the woman felt themselves slip from life and there could have been screams, if they truly felt the need... they did not. If one was of an inclination to take note of such things and had the correct equipment, it would have been interesting to notice that the table, that had been used for the gambit, grew. Not by any means, nearly enough for the naked eye to perceive, but still, enough for it to be noted, that at least two particles of an extremely small amount, must have been added to its tremendous size. Luckily there was no one present to take note of such an infuriatingly frustrating fact.
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"The only thing worse than a favour is a favour involving money."
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