“I think Obama’s honey-moon is over.”
The firmament arched like a vast emptiness like the emptiness between Matrimonions, the married onions that act as surrogate married couples for people in love who dont’ want to ruin that good feeling. My plan wasn’t working. banality might be insufficient, like a clown with an egg. Yet I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
The Frown-life was dissolving my ever-intelli-jaunts, the little trips you take in your mind that provide you answers as if by magic. Hypo-cognizance was creeping up on me, and yet without succumbing to this “totally meta” situation, I was likely to be destroyed by the Frown, like some invading parasite. It was exactly the type of no-win environment where those naturally occuring CEO’s on Vega Beta would relish.
Funny little guys, those CEOs. They hatch from rock niches in Armani suits, and develop mission statements preternaturally. Before they recognize the usefulness of fire, or utter their first vocables, they can browbeat an underling and defraud a press conference at over 60 universilad ™ microlengths per pleasant secondulus. That’s extremely fast! If i had one here, he would be quite the formidable ally. No doubt he’d already be ordering me to do all kinds of things that I would perceive to be in some way helping me, but ultimately, would only serve his own goals and interests. GOD i wish i had one.
Again I tried: “I think the Leafs have a shot at the cup this year.” But the abridgement of my personal universe did not abate.
I went into frantictown, and fled my hospital room, throwing off my warm blankies and racing into the hallway. No one. Each corridor a perfect replica of the 21st century world i had abandoned, all for my benefit, to keep me unsuspectingly self-reducing, but it was not my time. Could the Grand Old Frown of Frown Hall possibly have known that I was a man of centuries yet unnumbered by the ordinal impulse of man’s inner bookkeeper? If it didn’t, it was not perfect. It could make mistakes. perhaps, much later, i could tell it “You made a mistake”, and my gloat-hope composite would shear a rift out of which I might find escape. But for now, my choice was between equally unpopulated corridors to find any person at all to which i could say “cold enough for you? Brrr. You’d think they’d turn of the AC once in a while” to.
If i had been in my natural form, with all my legs and slurpsliders intact, i could have traversed all options within a matter of moments(tm). But the changes made the Suit could only be unchanged by the Suit, or at least, that is what was written on the literature given to me by the Suit, entitled “So, your body is gone…”
Without a moment to spare, I chose left. As i processed down the tunnel, pattern of tiles and lamps became a pattern of tiles and flickering lamps. Then of no lamps at all. The frowniverse had already reached whatever facility powered this building. I was doomed.
Perhaps if i ran a bit faster, i could outpace the hopelessness i felt encroaching on me. So faster I ran. A large orange door marked “Total Exit, Man” lay at the end of the hall, dimly illuminated by the infrared my body gave off. At least my luminous tasters and sniffers were still functioning, despite my body’s unsightly assemblage of bilaterally symmetrical appendages and single-head. I gripped the cold metal handle and turned. Locked.
There was a window fortunately to my left. I tried to break it, perhaps i could climb or jump down, I hoped. But it was no use, it was unbreakable by the feeble means this body possessed. The grips of panic grippled me down. Without hope, I had only one place to turn: crime. My poverty of options lead me to an inability to expect a middle class life, and all its recumbant bycicles. Instead, i felt the urge to deal drugs and rob. And as if by magic, the frown provided me with drug paraphernalia. The classic diamond tipped crack pipe was among them. But would it be enough?
Scratching a rough circle on the window i ran my hands round and round, digging ever deeper into the reenforced gazing-space. There wasn’t enough body head to tasterape into the distance, and I was out of options. I had to use my bodymass to shovel through the window’s increasingly impermanent solidness. How high up was I? how strong are contemporary bones? I was out of options. With a final pause to contemplate how much I could get for a stolen X-Box 360, i heaved with all of my strength, and with apparently a bit extra i didn’t know I had.
The sensation of falling was peculiar, given the inner ears I was cursed with. An almost giddy weightlessness, a rush of heretofore unsuspected stomach blushing, and my cardio bulb palpatitating wildly. it was, for the moment it lasted, the first time I ever felt like a lady. But like most ladies, it was not to last.
Wet grass broke my fall, but ineffectively. It was the ground that finally finished the job the lazy grass had started. In the cool night air, I was now both nearly incapacitated by numerous insurmountable pains, and by a total lack of light with which to spray or gleanfuck a direction. Ever the optimist, I squeeled out a squeal.
But it was no use. I was utterly alone in a collapsing tinyverse created to drain my individuality and then digest my fibrous organs. And yet, there must have been people at one point, or I would not have been able to banalify myself. Against what grinding averageness was i meant to bore my soul out, if not more people? Think! Think!
I could now hear the collapsing of buildings as their structures destabilized at the cusp of the frowniverse. It was only moments away. What did it want from me? What did it expect me to do? It was then that I smelled a faint glint of light, under my badly shatter legs. Without thought to pain, i reached for it, and felt a smooth plastic surface. With a touch it was illuminated, prompting my with a simple graphic to slide a slider to unlock it. Aquiescing to the domineering electronic, I used my thumb to slide the slider. At once, I was presented numerous genial icons in colors unnumbered and bright. Randomly, I depressed on, and the screen provided a small space and the words “140 characters left”. A keyboard interface was simulated at the bottom of the screen. I didn’t know wht to do. I could feel a hot wind as the cusp of the universe, now only meters away, digested the atmosphere. Panicked, I entered the first thing that seemed boring enough. I wrote exactly what I was doing right then.
“Lying on grass outside hospital” and hit send.
Something called a “twitter” occurred and my “status” was updated. The breeze blew hot and fast now, and a deafening roar of digestion was imbibed by my earthroats. The screen displayed a picture of me but with a funny 2d cartoony quality, and the words “Lying on grass outside hostpital” and in smaller text “less than 1 minute ago, from mobile.”
The tips of my hairs were vanishing, I curled my body into a ball, but all around me I felt blasts of streaming hotness, my flesh in pain and my bones diverted in strange ways they were not meant to be. I just sniffed that screen. Over and over. “Lying on grass outside hospital.” I couldn’t look away. I appreciated it. I wanted others to appreciate it. I fired off another.
“Appreciating own message, on grass.”
To be continued…
No responses yet