There's a lot of down time at work so when I'm not answering calls and fixing computers I've been writing this short story. It's a rough draft, would love some feedback or praise
The man stood in place like a cold, lifeless statue. His face was stolid, and unchanging. He was so empty, bitter, and dark on the inside that he leached off others emotions. Like a black hole, or dying star trying to consume more matter and energy to keep itself alive if only for just another moment. Even though his existence was dark and bleak he still clung to life, hoping things would change. He knew if he held out long enough things were bound to change, as nothing lasts forever in this world. Not even the suffering and pain that has afflicted his heart and soul for so very long.
He so desperately wants to change, wants to let someone in. He wants to share his big heart, but is afraid that once he exposes it, someone will plunge a knife in. He wants nothing more to love, and to be consumed by the love, affection, and intimacy that come with being so completely connected to another soul. He longs for such a thing with a great passion, but in contrast he fears of heartbreak just as strongly. For him love is a bloody, rusty, double edged sword.
He’s had a lifetime of being told what to think. He was told who to be, who to fuck, how to fuck and who to love. The church, the state, the media, and society. An organism, vile and depraved, filled with self-loathing, hate, ignorance, bigotry, fear and hypocrisy. Like an automated factory attempting to indoctrinated and make copies of itself; that are even more docile and ignorant than the generation before it. He doesn’t want to be like them, he just wants to be himself. He doesn’t want a label like weird, or non-conformist. He just wants to think for himself. Too many have given up thinking, they’ve stopping questioning authority. They’re blind and obedient, and slaves to vanity and greed. Their distracted by television and social media, like the romans were by the coliseum.
All these thoughts ran through his head as he stood bare foot on his carpet, his alarm just moments ago screaming incessantly in attempts to wake him from his slumber. He yawned, and then walked to the bathroom; still half a sleep barely lifting his feet off the floor as he walked. He flipped on the light switch, and was temporarily blinded by the sudden difference in light levels. Once his vision came back into focus he stood there looking in the mirror, wondering who was looking back at him.
Sometimes he had forgotten what he looked like and was surprised at the person in the mirror copying every gesture so adamantly. He often had surreal moments like these, possibly a symptom of his over thinking and constant daydreaming that causes what some might say is acute psychosis. John, “my name is John” he reminded himself as he stared at the mirror. He splashed some cool water on his face, and then dried off with a towel. He slid into some khaki dress pants that were laying on the floor, and pulled out a collared dress shirt from his hamper and threw it on. He knew it was clean, but it smelled like wet dog and cigarettes, an aroma that he often wore.
He opened his bedroom window and lit a cigarette. He knew they were bad for him, but he didn’t care. As the nicotine rushed to his brain he felt good, and even a little hard. It was still early in the morning and the moon illuminated the night. John finished his cigarette and walked down the hall and into the kitchen. He pressed red blinking button on the wall and then violently an object flew down a transparent tube and landed in a receptacle below. He opened the plastic cover of the receptacle and pulled out what appeared to be a nutrient bar. It read “today’s sustenance”, there were ingredients written on the back of the wrapper. The ingredients read: “Breakfast: Banana, oatmeal, ham and cheese omelet with veggies. Lunch: BBQ rib-eye sandwich with fries and shake. Dinner: Cod with herbs and spices, broccoli, mashed potatoes in light gravy”.
He secured his “sustenance” in his pants pocket, and slipped on his coat. He closed the door behind him and a voice spoke from within the house exclaiming “security activated”. That voice always gave John a warm fuzzy feeling, John wasn’t materialistic or delusional. However he just liked the idea of a place he could call his own that is safe, secure and private. Private being the most important, John didn’t like most people and in fact preferred machines and animals to people. John walked to the car station at the end of his block and waved his credit card in front of a reader. The small electric car was lowered down on the street and the door slid open. John got in the car and spoke aloud “ 5637 west mann st please” the car’s display lit up with the words “5637 west mann st acknowledged”. It read them aloud in a pleasing female voice, and began to pulsate with life as it merged into the other lane.
John enjoyed this quiet ride to work; he liked looking out the window to admire the symmetry and architecture of the city. He likes to imagine the city as a giant organism, and that the people and cars are other smaller organisms that have a symbiotic relationship with the city. He also likes to imagine the same of the earth, but the earth is merely an echo of its former self, but instead the organisms that live on it have defiled, polluted and corrupted the larger organism. Yet they somehow still remain, overcoming their own demise, their own stupidity through science and sheer will. Now the earth is a grey and dark place littered with technology, industry, and large concrete and symmetrical building.
It was a cold, wet day. John liked the rain, liked the sound it made as it violently embraced the glass of the car. It was all so therapeutic to John. John liked the lighting, the thunder, the rain, and all the people running to get inside. He liked the chaos of it all. The car drove into an underground tunnel and came to a stop in a wide concrete corridor. Many years ago this would have been an underground parking garage, but with the automated electric cars act or AECA, all citizens were no longer allowed personally own vehicles.
John got out of the car, and pressed a button on the wall, an automated female voice began to speak. It said “please clear the loading area, please clear the loading area”, as mechanical arms slowly descended from the ceiling and grabbed the small electric car and snatched it back up into some hidden place. John often wondered where all the cars are kept, he wondered if there was a giant like circulatory system with cars flowing through underground tubes and tunnels, or if the cars are just simply stored locally.