It’s your turn, pick a card.
Hide the results from our prying eyes,
Mustn’t ever let us see your hand.
Shifting eyes, don’t let down your guard,
We play for the ultimate prize.
How much pressure can you withstand?
Roll the dice
Tell us lies
That’s how we play the Game.
Move your pawn through a twisted path,
It only matters that you get there.
Never trust, there’s only betrayal.
You have no right to feel that wrath.
We never said the rules were fair.
This is life not Hollywood’s portrayal.
Roll your dice
Choose your lies
We’re always playing the Game.
You play a card, so naive!
You lift your eyes, I shift my gaze.
Please don’t look to me for aid.
Tenderness, what does it achieve?
Cloudy tears, a pathetic haze.
I make my move, checkmate.
Roll our dice
Choose our lies
We continue to play the Game.
It’s your turn, pick a card.
23 décembre 2006
22 décembre 2006
Mikarn
(Sorry, anyone who reads this, for the lengthy gap. School took over my life, but here is some prose that I wrote with no rhyme or reason)
He leaned against the wall. No sound penetrated the dank air less his own laboured breath and the incessant drip-drip of the blood from his elbow. He looked at the night sky—how long had it been night now? His watch ticked down; there was another week till the sun would rise again. Curse this planet and its 30-day rotation. They had told him he needed to stop thinking in terms of 24 hours, but his watch was Earth-made and that was all he had known for 19 years. Two years had passed since his arrival here. Two years to the day.
“I’m have 21 years today,” he spoke aloud. They said, back on Earth, that everyone is only half. That there is another half to make you whole, and you have to find that person. He wondered, at this time, if his other half was back on Earth. Maybe she was also feeling the pressure of age. What would she do now? Five years of searching gone to waste—he was not going back.
He shuddered involuntarily at the cold brick against his back. Despite the advanced insulation systems, the outside of the buildings began to get frigid towards mid-point. By the end, just before the sun rose again, touching them meant death of the flesh. He leant away from the wall. Always it was there, the urge to lean until the pain came, reminded him he was alive. But running was safer, no chance of irreversible epidermal damage. And so he ran.
***
The council met rarely; meetings were always so long, and the eldest members were hard-pressed to make the trip unless it was a matter of great importance. For some of them, this meeting seemed irrational and pointless. For others it held the utmost important. Shayla entered the room and felt overwhelmed by the tension in the air. Shee stood before the semicircular table where the other council members sat. As the youngest member, she felt the weight of intimidation pressing on his chest and he was momentarily dizzied. After an imperceptible sway, her stomach lurched and then resettled. She cleared her throat.
“I have asked you here today,” Shayla’s voice rang loud and clear, with no hint at the waves of nausea bombarding her, “because of the boy Mikarn.”
Whispering flooded the hall as the other council members commented amongst themselves.
“As I’m sure you know,” Shayla continued, “he has been noted as a possible candidate.” The council nodded its agreement. “But we have noticed faltering in his mental stability lately, and it is cause for a great deal of concern.” Shalya paused—the silence caused strange painful blindness. “He has taken to running for the equivalent of entire Terran days. He does not seem to notice this immense passage of time until he returns to his home, somewhat dazed and seeming to border on unconsciousness.”
“Do you mean to say,” interrupted one member, “that the boy runs for 24 Terra hours?” He seemed incredulous.
“Yes.”
“Impossible.” Murmurs of ascent swept the table. A few members though sat silent pressing their hands to their lips.
“It is not,” Shayla continued. “It is especially not impossible for Mikarn. Though his pace slows to an occasional jog, his movement is without rest. Upon his return his body shows signs of great suffering, but has returned to its previous state if not a healthier one within three Terran days.”
“You make the boy sound like a deity.”
Shalya nodded towards the adolescent boy who stood hunched in the shadows by the hall’s entrance. The boy strode forward—meek, but powerful in his carriage. He delivered a pamphlet to each of the council members and then returned to his submissive stance in the shadows.
“As you know, the Mikarn’s vital signs are under constant surveillance due to his candidacy. You will find before you his daily medical reports for the past four cycles.” Shayla paused while the council member’s deliberated over their pamphlets. When the chattering had begun to recede, she spoke again.
“As you can see, these reports are above and beyond anything we have ever seen before.”
One of the eldest council members stood, leaning heavily on his staff.
“He is the one.”
He leaned against the wall. No sound penetrated the dank air less his own laboured breath and the incessant drip-drip of the blood from his elbow. He looked at the night sky—how long had it been night now? His watch ticked down; there was another week till the sun would rise again. Curse this planet and its 30-day rotation. They had told him he needed to stop thinking in terms of 24 hours, but his watch was Earth-made and that was all he had known for 19 years. Two years had passed since his arrival here. Two years to the day.
“I’m have 21 years today,” he spoke aloud. They said, back on Earth, that everyone is only half. That there is another half to make you whole, and you have to find that person. He wondered, at this time, if his other half was back on Earth. Maybe she was also feeling the pressure of age. What would she do now? Five years of searching gone to waste—he was not going back.
He shuddered involuntarily at the cold brick against his back. Despite the advanced insulation systems, the outside of the buildings began to get frigid towards mid-point. By the end, just before the sun rose again, touching them meant death of the flesh. He leant away from the wall. Always it was there, the urge to lean until the pain came, reminded him he was alive. But running was safer, no chance of irreversible epidermal damage. And so he ran.
***
The council met rarely; meetings were always so long, and the eldest members were hard-pressed to make the trip unless it was a matter of great importance. For some of them, this meeting seemed irrational and pointless. For others it held the utmost important. Shayla entered the room and felt overwhelmed by the tension in the air. Shee stood before the semicircular table where the other council members sat. As the youngest member, she felt the weight of intimidation pressing on his chest and he was momentarily dizzied. After an imperceptible sway, her stomach lurched and then resettled. She cleared her throat.
“I have asked you here today,” Shayla’s voice rang loud and clear, with no hint at the waves of nausea bombarding her, “because of the boy Mikarn.”
Whispering flooded the hall as the other council members commented amongst themselves.
“As I’m sure you know,” Shayla continued, “he has been noted as a possible candidate.” The council nodded its agreement. “But we have noticed faltering in his mental stability lately, and it is cause for a great deal of concern.” Shalya paused—the silence caused strange painful blindness. “He has taken to running for the equivalent of entire Terran days. He does not seem to notice this immense passage of time until he returns to his home, somewhat dazed and seeming to border on unconsciousness.”
“Do you mean to say,” interrupted one member, “that the boy runs for 24 Terra hours?” He seemed incredulous.
“Yes.”
“Impossible.” Murmurs of ascent swept the table. A few members though sat silent pressing their hands to their lips.
“It is not,” Shayla continued. “It is especially not impossible for Mikarn. Though his pace slows to an occasional jog, his movement is without rest. Upon his return his body shows signs of great suffering, but has returned to its previous state if not a healthier one within three Terran days.”
“You make the boy sound like a deity.”
Shalya nodded towards the adolescent boy who stood hunched in the shadows by the hall’s entrance. The boy strode forward—meek, but powerful in his carriage. He delivered a pamphlet to each of the council members and then returned to his submissive stance in the shadows.
“As you know, the Mikarn’s vital signs are under constant surveillance due to his candidacy. You will find before you his daily medical reports for the past four cycles.” Shayla paused while the council member’s deliberated over their pamphlets. When the chattering had begun to recede, she spoke again.
“As you can see, these reports are above and beyond anything we have ever seen before.”
One of the eldest council members stood, leaning heavily on his staff.
“He is the one.”
16 septembre 2006
Bad Poem to Fill the Gap
(thre's a story forming in my head, just give me a few more day to flesh out some of the details. Here's a terrifically bad poem to hold you till then)
Word Train Trip
I’m barely on approach and the light turns
Green – your eyes on me
Piercing the darkness the light
Turns to yellow. I got lost
In thought, you’re always on my
Mind your Ps and
Cues the orchestra for the last
Act like you know my
Secrets kept hidden away from the
Public schools promote sex
Education is free in America the
Beautiful even if you think you’re
Not another car on the entire
Road to Damascus
Word Train Trip
I’m barely on approach and the light turns
Green – your eyes on me
Piercing the darkness the light
Turns to yellow. I got lost
In thought, you’re always on my
Mind your Ps and
Cues the orchestra for the last
Act like you know my
Secrets kept hidden away from the
Public schools promote sex
Education is free in America the
Beautiful even if you think you’re
Not another car on the entire
Road to Damascus
25 août 2006
I guess I broke the pattern
I should probably write some more prose soon...
Untitled (a work in progress)
You have no idea
Tumble down my back
Eighty-seven water droplets
“Love is when”
Wrapped in a towel
Spicy chills tingle the inside creases of my elbows
Think of your evergreen eyes
I don’t bother hugging you too tightly
I’m going to the grocery store
Naked children play in the park
The same song playing on the radio
It will never be close enough
I’ve heard it twice this day
I mouth along
Dark and cloudy, unexpectedly balmy
Untitled (a work in progress)
You have no idea
Tumble down my back
Eighty-seven water droplets
“Love is when”
Wrapped in a towel
Spicy chills tingle the inside creases of my elbows
Think of your evergreen eyes
I don’t bother hugging you too tightly
I’m going to the grocery store
Naked children play in the park
The same song playing on the radio
It will never be close enough
I’ve heard it twice this day
I mouth along
Dark and cloudy, unexpectedly balmy
20 juillet 2006
I had insomnia... so I wrote
A maze of darkened corridors,
I see your shadow in the archway.
Laughing
I run to nothing.
My hands caress the cold stone.
I hear your voice
turning in circles
try to call to you.
Silent words pass through lips and
bounce off the ceiling, leaving
empty as before.
Your hand on my shoulder.
I grasp it before you disappear.
Looking back to find
you
fade and the hand in mine [mist] shadow.
I see your shadow in the archway.
Laughing
I run to nothing.
My hands caress the cold stone.
I hear your voice
turning in circles
try to call to you.
Silent words pass through lips and
bounce off the ceiling, leaving
empty as before.
Your hand on my shoulder.
I grasp it before you disappear.
Looking back to find
you
fade and the hand in mine [mist] shadow.
12 juillet 2006
A Couple New Ones
To You
This is for you
(to you)
Wherever you are…
Did I ever tell you? Yes, I did.
You just weren’t there when
I admitted it.
(My heart pounds – BAM! BAM!)
Listen to me when I’m (not) speaking!
Roaring as I pour
my heart out to you :
Sahara silence.
Freedom/I Can't Tell You
The 4th of July
Red white and ? the blue-grey storm
free country! – it’s free to rain.
(We dance the dance)
What are you thinking?
We’re lucky
to live
so freely.
What are you doing?
Counting raindrops
(in my own world)
What did you say?
Nothing.
I’m free to think
Nothing.
I’m free to do
Nothing.
I’m free to say
Nothing.
You’re free to be amazed at
what's beneath all my
Nothingness.
This is for you
(to you)
Wherever you are…
Did I ever tell you? Yes, I did.
You just weren’t there when
I admitted it.
(My heart pounds – BAM! BAM!)
Listen to me when I’m (not) speaking!
Roaring as I pour
my heart out to you :
Sahara silence.
Freedom/I Can't Tell You
The 4th of July
Red white and ? the blue-grey storm
free country! – it’s free to rain.
(We dance the dance)
What are you thinking?
We’re lucky
to live
so freely.
What are you doing?
Counting raindrops
(in my own world)
What did you say?
Nothing.
I’m free to think
Nothing.
I’m free to do
Nothing.
I’m free to say
Nothing.
You’re free to be amazed at
what's beneath all my
Nothingness.
21 juin 2006
Amensia
“Allo? Allo?”
Pounding. What was that awful racket?
“Monsieur? Êtes-vous bien? Monsieur?”
Someone was at the door. I opened my eyes. Oh god. Bad idea. My head was pounding and I rubbed at my temples. Who was knocking at the door? Where was I? I tried opening my eyes again.
The bedspread pattern was made of oranges and purples in some abstract floral blend and the painting on the wall was similarly abstract and ugly. The mattress beneath me was queen size—and hard as a rock. This was most definitely a hotel, but why was I in a hotel? How did I get here?
“Monsieur? Si vous ne me repondiez pendant cinq secondes, je serais telephoner la police!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I swung my feet out of the bed and stood, fighting waves of nauseau and vertigo. I felt like I’d been run over by a truck.
“Monsieur…” the gentleman at my door trailed off suspiciously. I looked down. Damn, no clothes. I slammed the door. There were pants next to my bed, unfortunately they appeared to be covered in blood. Boxers were my next best option. I reopened the door.
“Monsieur,” the gentleman smiled, but then a pained expression contorted his face. “Why, if you please, is there blood making prints of the feet from l’entrance to here?” His words were overly enunciated and I could tell, from the look on his face, that speaking English to me caused him to want to gag.
I shifted my weight to peer out the doorway. The hotelier was correct; I chewed at my tongue a moment.
“I don’t entirely have an explanation right now. Maybe I could get back to you?”
A raised eyebrow and a snort in my direction informed me that this was not the best answer. I figured I couldn’t make things worse.
“By the way, uh, where am I?”
A perplexed look swept the hotelier’s face before he sniffed and resumed his airs, “You are at the [HOTEL NAME] in Lyons, France.”
I had really been hoping, up to this point, that I was in Lousiana, or some bizarre neo-We Love Europe hotel. My hopes were shattered. I sighed and went for the kill.
“And uh, I registered here…” the hotelier’s look told me not to ask too many more questions. How could I phrase this well? “Do you even know who I am?”
“Monsier Richard Bernard from the California State in the United States.” He paused and presumably mulled over the tone of my previous question. “No one celebrated if I am recalling correctly.”
Richard Bernard. Didn’t ring any bells. So I was a non-celebrity, normal person, with no idea why the hell I was in France. The blood was just icing on the cake.
Pounding. What was that awful racket?
“Monsieur? Êtes-vous bien? Monsieur?”
Someone was at the door. I opened my eyes. Oh god. Bad idea. My head was pounding and I rubbed at my temples. Who was knocking at the door? Where was I? I tried opening my eyes again.
The bedspread pattern was made of oranges and purples in some abstract floral blend and the painting on the wall was similarly abstract and ugly. The mattress beneath me was queen size—and hard as a rock. This was most definitely a hotel, but why was I in a hotel? How did I get here?
“Monsieur? Si vous ne me repondiez pendant cinq secondes, je serais telephoner la police!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I swung my feet out of the bed and stood, fighting waves of nauseau and vertigo. I felt like I’d been run over by a truck.
“Monsieur…” the gentleman at my door trailed off suspiciously. I looked down. Damn, no clothes. I slammed the door. There were pants next to my bed, unfortunately they appeared to be covered in blood. Boxers were my next best option. I reopened the door.
“Monsieur,” the gentleman smiled, but then a pained expression contorted his face. “Why, if you please, is there blood making prints of the feet from l’entrance to here?” His words were overly enunciated and I could tell, from the look on his face, that speaking English to me caused him to want to gag.
I shifted my weight to peer out the doorway. The hotelier was correct; I chewed at my tongue a moment.
“I don’t entirely have an explanation right now. Maybe I could get back to you?”
A raised eyebrow and a snort in my direction informed me that this was not the best answer. I figured I couldn’t make things worse.
“By the way, uh, where am I?”
A perplexed look swept the hotelier’s face before he sniffed and resumed his airs, “You are at the [HOTEL NAME] in Lyons, France.”
I had really been hoping, up to this point, that I was in Lousiana, or some bizarre neo-We Love Europe hotel. My hopes were shattered. I sighed and went for the kill.
“And uh, I registered here…” the hotelier’s look told me not to ask too many more questions. How could I phrase this well? “Do you even know who I am?”
“Monsier Richard Bernard from the California State in the United States.” He paused and presumably mulled over the tone of my previous question. “No one celebrated if I am recalling correctly.”
Richard Bernard. Didn’t ring any bells. So I was a non-celebrity, normal person, with no idea why the hell I was in France. The blood was just icing on the cake.
25 mai 2006
An Exercise
(it's not great--it's just something I feel like I could play with it in the future, but I get more from poetry exercises than I ever did from the workshop I took at Knox... what a waste)
Your presence will not be necessary.
I must have what I asked for.
(the voice drones on)
The car is dead and needs a jump.
You talk to me like you talk to me
(on the phone)
I wiggle my toes and know
I am weird for you.
(apologising)
Trapped in th elevator listening
to the woman over the intercom.
Your presence will not be necessary.
I must have what I asked for.
(the voice drones on)
The car is dead and needs a jump.
You talk to me like you talk to me
(on the phone)
I wiggle my toes and know
I am weird for you.
(apologising)
Trapped in th elevator listening
to the woman over the intercom.
23 mai 2006
I see a pattern
(poem, fiction, poem, fiction... maybe I'll keep to it. Anyway here's another random scene that played in my brain)
I ran through the crowd, through the stampeding people. Why did it feel like I was going against them? Maybe it’s just the nature of the crowd, there is no flow during mass chaos, only banging shoulders and narrowly avoiding globe luxation. I made it to the centre plaza; the fountain in the square was flowing at regular intervals, totally unaffected by the surrounding madness. I spotted Colin first and then Ajax. They were rushing towards me, blind with panic.
“Colin!” To this day I swear I was yelling, but I couldn’t even hear me. I took a deep breath and threw myself in path. The collision was painful, but successful—he stopped and Ajaxwas distracted enough by our entanglement to slow his progress.
“Are you mad?!”
“You’re going… the wrong… way.” I staggered to my feet, completely out of breath and took a hand from each of them, propelling them in the direction I had been heading. They ran with me, and in a moment of psychological dislocation, I basked in their ability to just trust me.
We did not speak, but kept running, shoving our way through the crowds. At the steps to the central utilities building the noise was nearly incomprehensible and the three of us tightened our grips. We leaned our way through the crowds and, finally, the front doors. We had barely stepped inside when a ripping sensation pained my left hand.
“Colin!” It was the second time I screamed his name, this time in terror as he was swept down the corridor by a stampede of people.
“We’ll find him,” Ajax's words, though well-intentioned, did not reassure me. But we had no choice, we had to keep moving. Up two flights of stairs the noise was hushed and we had to move more carefully. Stealthily peering around corners and madly dashing into alcoves, I began to feel as though I were hallucinating some sort of spy move scenario. It was too unreal, my brain was shutting down. I shook myself and my vision cleared some. Dragging Ajax into a supplies closet I released his hand to point up. He followed my gesture, but shook his head.
“They installed sensors into all the air vents just last week.”
I wavered, and felt off balance, entirely agog and unable to process this statement. “They… knew this was coming?”
“They planned it.”
Roaring, deafening silence.
“We have to keep going.”
I held up a silencing hand, and let a movie montage of blueprints and pictures run through my brain.
“Got it.” I grabbed Ajax's hand and peered through the door’s slats—empty. We moved into the hall and through a maze of corridors. Looking back, I realise it must have seemed total madness, and to be honest, if anyone had stopped us, I might have been lost. But I was running in a picture, I focused on the blueprint in my mind and it was like filling in a maze in a kid’s activity book. We reached the non-functional escalators before I realised that the children had been released to work. Brainwashed beyond being human they did not stop us, I doubt they even recognised our existence, but it gave me chills and I quickened my pace.
“Heat sensors in ten seconds,” a pleasant, if mechanical, female voice announced over the intercom.
With a renewed sense of panic Ajax and I raced down the steps of the escalators, risking a fall knowing that, at least it would be fast.
“Heat sensors in five…”
We took long, awkward, racing strides towards the end of the hall.
“Four…”
My side cramped and I gasped for more air.
“Three…”
Thank god there were no children, we’d have run them over.
“Two…”
The door was within reach.
“One…”
Ajax grasped the handle and flung open the door.
“Heat sensors activated.”
We lay on the floor, gasping for air. I rubbed the hipbone I had mashed on my fall into the boiler room.
I ran through the crowd, through the stampeding people. Why did it feel like I was going against them? Maybe it’s just the nature of the crowd, there is no flow during mass chaos, only banging shoulders and narrowly avoiding globe luxation. I made it to the centre plaza; the fountain in the square was flowing at regular intervals, totally unaffected by the surrounding madness. I spotted Colin first and then Ajax. They were rushing towards me, blind with panic.
“Colin!” To this day I swear I was yelling, but I couldn’t even hear me. I took a deep breath and threw myself in path. The collision was painful, but successful—he stopped and Ajaxwas distracted enough by our entanglement to slow his progress.
“Are you mad?!”
“You’re going… the wrong… way.” I staggered to my feet, completely out of breath and took a hand from each of them, propelling them in the direction I had been heading. They ran with me, and in a moment of psychological dislocation, I basked in their ability to just trust me.
We did not speak, but kept running, shoving our way through the crowds. At the steps to the central utilities building the noise was nearly incomprehensible and the three of us tightened our grips. We leaned our way through the crowds and, finally, the front doors. We had barely stepped inside when a ripping sensation pained my left hand.
“Colin!” It was the second time I screamed his name, this time in terror as he was swept down the corridor by a stampede of people.
“We’ll find him,” Ajax's words, though well-intentioned, did not reassure me. But we had no choice, we had to keep moving. Up two flights of stairs the noise was hushed and we had to move more carefully. Stealthily peering around corners and madly dashing into alcoves, I began to feel as though I were hallucinating some sort of spy move scenario. It was too unreal, my brain was shutting down. I shook myself and my vision cleared some. Dragging Ajax into a supplies closet I released his hand to point up. He followed my gesture, but shook his head.
“They installed sensors into all the air vents just last week.”
I wavered, and felt off balance, entirely agog and unable to process this statement. “They… knew this was coming?”
“They planned it.”
Roaring, deafening silence.
“We have to keep going.”
I held up a silencing hand, and let a movie montage of blueprints and pictures run through my brain.
“Got it.” I grabbed Ajax's hand and peered through the door’s slats—empty. We moved into the hall and through a maze of corridors. Looking back, I realise it must have seemed total madness, and to be honest, if anyone had stopped us, I might have been lost. But I was running in a picture, I focused on the blueprint in my mind and it was like filling in a maze in a kid’s activity book. We reached the non-functional escalators before I realised that the children had been released to work. Brainwashed beyond being human they did not stop us, I doubt they even recognised our existence, but it gave me chills and I quickened my pace.
“Heat sensors in ten seconds,” a pleasant, if mechanical, female voice announced over the intercom.
With a renewed sense of panic Ajax and I raced down the steps of the escalators, risking a fall knowing that, at least it would be fast.
“Heat sensors in five…”
We took long, awkward, racing strides towards the end of the hall.
“Four…”
My side cramped and I gasped for more air.
“Three…”
Thank god there were no children, we’d have run them over.
“Two…”
The door was within reach.
“One…”
Ajax grasped the handle and flung open the door.
“Heat sensors activated.”
We lay on the floor, gasping for air. I rubbed the hipbone I had mashed on my fall into the boiler room.
17 mai 2006
A Couple Old Poems
I'm working on something for right now, but in the meantime, here are a couple OLD poems:
Feeling Blue?
I ride home on a chocolate train,
Staring at the cerulean sky while
nestled in my alabaster seat.
Night sheds licorice shadows on
the burnt tangerine carpet.
Small forests of muted charcoal shadows pass as
chaotically as my rainbow thoughts.
Spirals of electric lemon clash with
wild strawberry and chartreuse in my mind.
This journey home is bittersweet and
I feel so magenta.
Dying of Rubies
To leave you is to strike my own heart.
Streams of sapphires and diamonds cut paths down my face.
I try to hide my pain from you with
a plastic pearl smile.
One last embrace and I don't want to let go,
lost in a sea of liquid turquoise.
Staring out the window, I watch
as twilight melds amber and emerald.
Now I am torn apart inside and feel
I must be dying of rubies.
Feeling Blue?
I ride home on a chocolate train,
Staring at the cerulean sky while
nestled in my alabaster seat.
Night sheds licorice shadows on
the burnt tangerine carpet.
Small forests of muted charcoal shadows pass as
chaotically as my rainbow thoughts.
Spirals of electric lemon clash with
wild strawberry and chartreuse in my mind.
This journey home is bittersweet and
I feel so magenta.
Dying of Rubies
To leave you is to strike my own heart.
Streams of sapphires and diamonds cut paths down my face.
I try to hide my pain from you with
a plastic pearl smile.
One last embrace and I don't want to let go,
lost in a sea of liquid turquoise.
Staring out the window, I watch
as twilight melds amber and emerald.
Now I am torn apart inside and feel
I must be dying of rubies.
14 mai 2006
A Random Story Snippet
(This story has no real rhyme or reason, I wrote it just because it popped into my brain)
“So how many times have you been through doors?” Michael whispered his question. He sounded like he was somehow in awe of my ventures.
I shrugged, “I didn’t really count after I hit three. What does it matter now?”
Michael turned slowly to James. “What about you?”
James snorted lightly and narrowed his eyes. “It’s not safe to leave.” His answer was crisp, and though it was quick, I could see him glance at me—disapproving. I wasn’t ashamed, but I still shifted my gaze to the floor.
“We need to wait a few days before you go your third trip,” I took Michael by his shoulders. Looking straight at him, hoping that he would understand the gravity of the situation, “You mustn’t go too soon. Wait, and I’ll go with you, ok?” He nodded, and I knew he would wait, even though I doubted he truly understand why. I released him and saw Peter staring at us.
“I’ve never been.” I couldn’t read the look on his face, and it made me nervous to respond. I hate when I can’t read people fully, I never know how to react. I just nodded and mumbled something reassuring. It was getting late and everyone needed to head back to the sleeping quarters anyway. I prodded Michael towards the doorway and Peter trailed him sleepily. I turned to James and surveyed his perfectly formed features. He was exactly what the higher-ups wanted. He was pretty without being girly, with pinked but clearly male features. His hair behaved well, he was slim without being scrawny. And to top it all, he was intelligent and yet seemed completely in line with the mentalities imposed on us from an early age. I wondered briefly if life would be easier had I just let myself be brainwashed, but then he brushed past me, muttering, “We need to get back.” I sighed, I couldn’t stay within the confines of the complex for too long or the extra body heat would register with the sensors. I had taken Michael outside long enough to detach his second identification chip and to hopefully let his body better adapt to life outside the complex walls, but with his last sensor still in place, he needed to be present for bed checks.
With the boys gone, I slipped through the heavy door and into one of the hundreds of outer staircases.
//\\//\\//\\
It had been two weeks since I had seen the trio of boys, but a scrap of fabric on the door handle meant Michael was restless to make his last trip. Having slipped into the complex during everyone’s waking period and hopefully masking my extra body heat with the powering up of generators and rising metabolisms of the waking residents, I now peered down the corridor and listened for footsteps. Content with my solitude, I wound my way up and down several staircases and through various hallways until I found the fabric centre where James worked. Row after row of brightly coloured fabric filled the warehouse size room and I caressed it gently as I made my way toward the desk. I encountered Michael just two rows before the front desk. He bounced eagerly on one foot. His youth inspired me and I smiled involuntarily.
We went to the front desk and James regarded us, a peculiar look on his face. He reached under the desk and retrieved a quilted jacket. “Trip three,” he said, and handed me the satiny red creation.
I stood silent, perplexed. My words of gratitude were stuck in my throat and a strangled sound escaped me when Peter suddenly tugged at my hand.
“I wanna come!”
Before I could tell him he was better off staying in the complex the alarm sounded. “Alert: there is an intruder in the complex. Alert: there is an intruder in the complex.” The noise was deafening.
Terrified, I grabbed Michael’s hand and we started running. I could hear little footsteps behind us, then a crash. Cursing to myself, I shoved Michael towards the exit and ran back to scoop up Peter who had knocked over a rack of cloth. I saw James running not far behind us. The now four of us ran through the seas of frightened people to my chosen doorway and into the outer staircases.
“Wow.” Peter was gazing around as though seeing something fantastic while the other boys and I caught our breath. I looked around, and raised an eyebrow. The outer staircases were hardly a thing of wonder. Soldered onto the concrete wall encasing the complex, the staircases were separated from the true outside world by another, poorly constructed wall of randomly patched together sheetrock and brick. Concrete ledges, like the one on which we perched, were randomly interspersed for the maintenance people to rest or maybe set tools.
“Three.” James’ voice interrupted my thoughts.
“What?”
“This makes three.”
“Oh, for Michael?”
“And for me.”
I said nothing, mulling over this new development, as James hauled out a pocketknife and cut out his last identification chip, and therefore the sensor that would indicate his presence in the compound. He was now a complete refugee—like I was.
Avoiding my gaze, he turned to Michael and cut the thin layer of skin surrounding that last chip. I winced, remember how much it hurt to take them out, but Michael stood bravely, his eyes watering only very slightly. We tossed the chips off the ledge, no matter where they landed as long as they weren’t near us.
James and I exchanged looks, and then turned to Peter.
“I don’t really like blood,” he sounded so young. I held his hand while James quickly took out the first sensor. He hung onto Peter’s arm, even after discarding the chip.
“Peter, how old are you?”
“Almost seven.”
“He’ll only have two then,” I concluded to James, though he would, of course, know this. He nodded, but said nothing. Peter looked vaguely perplexed but apparently deemed this information unimportant since he asked no questions.
Michael broke the developing tension by yawning loudly and I had to laugh. We all lay down on the ledge, exhausted by the stresses of escape.
//\\//\\//\
I woke with a start, unused to people sleeping next to me. It’s only the two boys, I reassured myself. But two was not the number my mind wanted to hear, and upon realising Peter’s absence I woke the two others. James began pacing the ledge and Michael just stood against the wall seemingly numb.
I finally swung off the ledge, onto the staircase and started to open the door.
“What are you doing?” James stopped pacing to shriek at me.
“Acting, accomplishing,” I went through the door. It opened a moment later and I jumped in spite of myself.
“Three times?”
James nodded.
“I didn’t figure you the type. I didn’t expect you to follow us.”
“I just couldn’t live the way they wanted.”
Utterly perplexed, I decided not to press the issue. I peeked around the corner, but immediately withdrew seeing Peter’s little frame as he talked animatedly to three security guards. I strained to hear what he was saying.
“-I just followed so I could see where they would go. They’re right through that door and then there’s a ledge beneath the staircase. And I think they were trying to kill me! They took away my chippy thingy! And-“
I turned to James, terrified, and shoved him back through the doorway.
“Pack it in,” I said to Michael.
“Pack it… what? Pack what in where?”
“Nevermind, it’s just a saying. Let’s go.” I jumped from the ledge to a stairway a few feet beneath it. The boys followed and we ran down several flights of stairs, pressing further into a darker area of the outer staircases. I stopped, trying to remember where the wall gave way. Leaning precariously away from the staircase I pushed against the outerwall and a mass of bricks fell away. I began to go with them but James caught me.
I hid a smile, “No, that’s supposed to happen.” I leaned through the hole and out of the inner wall area. Scrambling away from the opening, I watched the two boys fall through also. Both landed with soft thuds as they hit the grass, and I thought I was going to burst out laughing when I saw the fear and doubt on their faces.
“Sorry,” I took a breath and replaced the mass of bricks. “I should’ve warned you about the short drop.”
James was petting the grass and failed to respond, Michael just stared at his surroundings and took great breaths of air.
“The air… tastes good.”
I laughed again, “Careful, you’ll start hyperventilating if you keep doing that.”
I had forgotten, of course, what it was like, the first time outside the complex. The natural environment, the fresh air. I was glad it was dusk and there was no sun overhead, that might have been too much. I tried to remember my first time outside. My father had taken me, just as his father had taken him. Of course, his father had been alive before the complex, otherwise, we wouldn’t have known.
“We should get away from here…” I hated to rush the boys, but with security aware of the situation, we needed to move as far from the complex as we could. I turned back to look at it; I saw only an old abandoned factory… that was, of course, the intention when it was built, but it was still incredible that even I couldn’t really tell and I knew what it was.
James took my hand, and I took Michael’s hand, and we began to walk.
“So how many times have you been through doors?” Michael whispered his question. He sounded like he was somehow in awe of my ventures.
I shrugged, “I didn’t really count after I hit three. What does it matter now?”
Michael turned slowly to James. “What about you?”
James snorted lightly and narrowed his eyes. “It’s not safe to leave.” His answer was crisp, and though it was quick, I could see him glance at me—disapproving. I wasn’t ashamed, but I still shifted my gaze to the floor.
“We need to wait a few days before you go your third trip,” I took Michael by his shoulders. Looking straight at him, hoping that he would understand the gravity of the situation, “You mustn’t go too soon. Wait, and I’ll go with you, ok?” He nodded, and I knew he would wait, even though I doubted he truly understand why. I released him and saw Peter staring at us.
“I’ve never been.” I couldn’t read the look on his face, and it made me nervous to respond. I hate when I can’t read people fully, I never know how to react. I just nodded and mumbled something reassuring. It was getting late and everyone needed to head back to the sleeping quarters anyway. I prodded Michael towards the doorway and Peter trailed him sleepily. I turned to James and surveyed his perfectly formed features. He was exactly what the higher-ups wanted. He was pretty without being girly, with pinked but clearly male features. His hair behaved well, he was slim without being scrawny. And to top it all, he was intelligent and yet seemed completely in line with the mentalities imposed on us from an early age. I wondered briefly if life would be easier had I just let myself be brainwashed, but then he brushed past me, muttering, “We need to get back.” I sighed, I couldn’t stay within the confines of the complex for too long or the extra body heat would register with the sensors. I had taken Michael outside long enough to detach his second identification chip and to hopefully let his body better adapt to life outside the complex walls, but with his last sensor still in place, he needed to be present for bed checks.
With the boys gone, I slipped through the heavy door and into one of the hundreds of outer staircases.
//\\//\\//\\
It had been two weeks since I had seen the trio of boys, but a scrap of fabric on the door handle meant Michael was restless to make his last trip. Having slipped into the complex during everyone’s waking period and hopefully masking my extra body heat with the powering up of generators and rising metabolisms of the waking residents, I now peered down the corridor and listened for footsteps. Content with my solitude, I wound my way up and down several staircases and through various hallways until I found the fabric centre where James worked. Row after row of brightly coloured fabric filled the warehouse size room and I caressed it gently as I made my way toward the desk. I encountered Michael just two rows before the front desk. He bounced eagerly on one foot. His youth inspired me and I smiled involuntarily.
We went to the front desk and James regarded us, a peculiar look on his face. He reached under the desk and retrieved a quilted jacket. “Trip three,” he said, and handed me the satiny red creation.
I stood silent, perplexed. My words of gratitude were stuck in my throat and a strangled sound escaped me when Peter suddenly tugged at my hand.
“I wanna come!”
Before I could tell him he was better off staying in the complex the alarm sounded. “Alert: there is an intruder in the complex. Alert: there is an intruder in the complex.” The noise was deafening.
Terrified, I grabbed Michael’s hand and we started running. I could hear little footsteps behind us, then a crash. Cursing to myself, I shoved Michael towards the exit and ran back to scoop up Peter who had knocked over a rack of cloth. I saw James running not far behind us. The now four of us ran through the seas of frightened people to my chosen doorway and into the outer staircases.
“Wow.” Peter was gazing around as though seeing something fantastic while the other boys and I caught our breath. I looked around, and raised an eyebrow. The outer staircases were hardly a thing of wonder. Soldered onto the concrete wall encasing the complex, the staircases were separated from the true outside world by another, poorly constructed wall of randomly patched together sheetrock and brick. Concrete ledges, like the one on which we perched, were randomly interspersed for the maintenance people to rest or maybe set tools.
“Three.” James’ voice interrupted my thoughts.
“What?”
“This makes three.”
“Oh, for Michael?”
“And for me.”
I said nothing, mulling over this new development, as James hauled out a pocketknife and cut out his last identification chip, and therefore the sensor that would indicate his presence in the compound. He was now a complete refugee—like I was.
Avoiding my gaze, he turned to Michael and cut the thin layer of skin surrounding that last chip. I winced, remember how much it hurt to take them out, but Michael stood bravely, his eyes watering only very slightly. We tossed the chips off the ledge, no matter where they landed as long as they weren’t near us.
James and I exchanged looks, and then turned to Peter.
“I don’t really like blood,” he sounded so young. I held his hand while James quickly took out the first sensor. He hung onto Peter’s arm, even after discarding the chip.
“Peter, how old are you?”
“Almost seven.”
“He’ll only have two then,” I concluded to James, though he would, of course, know this. He nodded, but said nothing. Peter looked vaguely perplexed but apparently deemed this information unimportant since he asked no questions.
Michael broke the developing tension by yawning loudly and I had to laugh. We all lay down on the ledge, exhausted by the stresses of escape.
//\\//\\//\
I woke with a start, unused to people sleeping next to me. It’s only the two boys, I reassured myself. But two was not the number my mind wanted to hear, and upon realising Peter’s absence I woke the two others. James began pacing the ledge and Michael just stood against the wall seemingly numb.
I finally swung off the ledge, onto the staircase and started to open the door.
“What are you doing?” James stopped pacing to shriek at me.
“Acting, accomplishing,” I went through the door. It opened a moment later and I jumped in spite of myself.
“Three times?”
James nodded.
“I didn’t figure you the type. I didn’t expect you to follow us.”
“I just couldn’t live the way they wanted.”
Utterly perplexed, I decided not to press the issue. I peeked around the corner, but immediately withdrew seeing Peter’s little frame as he talked animatedly to three security guards. I strained to hear what he was saying.
“-I just followed so I could see where they would go. They’re right through that door and then there’s a ledge beneath the staircase. And I think they were trying to kill me! They took away my chippy thingy! And-“
I turned to James, terrified, and shoved him back through the doorway.
“Pack it in,” I said to Michael.
“Pack it… what? Pack what in where?”
“Nevermind, it’s just a saying. Let’s go.” I jumped from the ledge to a stairway a few feet beneath it. The boys followed and we ran down several flights of stairs, pressing further into a darker area of the outer staircases. I stopped, trying to remember where the wall gave way. Leaning precariously away from the staircase I pushed against the outerwall and a mass of bricks fell away. I began to go with them but James caught me.
I hid a smile, “No, that’s supposed to happen.” I leaned through the hole and out of the inner wall area. Scrambling away from the opening, I watched the two boys fall through also. Both landed with soft thuds as they hit the grass, and I thought I was going to burst out laughing when I saw the fear and doubt on their faces.
“Sorry,” I took a breath and replaced the mass of bricks. “I should’ve warned you about the short drop.”
James was petting the grass and failed to respond, Michael just stared at his surroundings and took great breaths of air.
“The air… tastes good.”
I laughed again, “Careful, you’ll start hyperventilating if you keep doing that.”
I had forgotten, of course, what it was like, the first time outside the complex. The natural environment, the fresh air. I was glad it was dusk and there was no sun overhead, that might have been too much. I tried to remember my first time outside. My father had taken me, just as his father had taken him. Of course, his father had been alive before the complex, otherwise, we wouldn’t have known.
“We should get away from here…” I hated to rush the boys, but with security aware of the situation, we needed to move as far from the complex as we could. I turned back to look at it; I saw only an old abandoned factory… that was, of course, the intention when it was built, but it was still incredible that even I couldn’t really tell and I knew what it was.
James took my hand, and I took Michael’s hand, and we began to walk.
13 mai 2006
Artists
Artists are what artists do,
souls mobilised to express.
Many claim this artist title and
act their part well.
"Poets" in berets crooning
their woes mingle with the café smoke.
"Painters" whose paintings mean so much
that I can't tell which way is up.
Now it's cool to be hot,
you can channel the anger.
Just know that if you're happy,
you have no place in this world of "artists".
souls mobilised to express.
Many claim this artist title and
act their part well.
"Poets" in berets crooning
their woes mingle with the café smoke.
"Painters" whose paintings mean so much
that I can't tell which way is up.
Now it's cool to be hot,
you can channel the anger.
Just know that if you're happy,
you have no place in this world of "artists".
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