Wednesday, May 18, 2011

The outcast broadcast.

 Amateur graffiti adorns the tan wooden panel walls on the tenements bordering the side of the alley. The humidity of a warm summers eve lightly wafts though the temperate air. The alley itself is paved with worn and graying blacktop riddled with potholes and gravel. Tall grass sporadically trims the edge of a dilapidated wooden fence which surrounds a vacant lot. The streetlight quietly hums and a gentle whoosh from the nearby boulevard cars can be heard whispering its soft lullaby. Broken bottle glass glimmers on the pavement under the streetlight like tiny jewels. A sudden flash from a lighter illuminates a silhouette in the farthest corner of the alley, the faint glow of a cigarette paints the mysterious visage of the man in the corner a faint orange.. Gravel crunches underfoot as the man nervously shifts his feet about and exhales smoke. "Whereabouts 'as that gloopy malchick gotten to?" he mumbled fiddling with his lighter. "No concern o' mine, Nadsies wastin' raz." He thought to himself. He took the cancer stick from his mouth  by the Brillo and looked at it a bit before casting it to the ground and stepping on it. A lone figure cast in shadow staggers towards the man slowly.  "Spare some cutter me brother?" he asked with shame in his eyes. "Oi ya bazoomy bratchny, you'll not be taking none of my pretty polly!", the Man in the corner replied. The vagrant smirked and stumbled his way back out of alley. The grind of bike gears is heard in the distance. "Ah about time!" the man said as he reached into the right pocket of his leather jacket. A
Teenager on a bicycle tore past the streetlight before grinding to a halt next to the man.
"Hiya Marv!" he said gleefully as he hopped off of his bike and pulled his hood up. "Shive that Marv business malchick." Marv said as he pulled a bloodied envelope from his coat pocket. "Here's the document on Officer Turton," Marv said as he handed the teen the envelope,"prinure broke my neck getting it, so don't lose it." A flash of blinding white brilliance erupted from the horizon. A thunderous roar charged through the alley. All was silent-- they had failed.
"Halt!" shouted a masculine voice. "You are breaking curfew, The following arrest is for the protection of your loved ones and yourself." A shadow sifted through the blinding light, slowly manifesting itself as none other than Warrant Officer Turton. "Hello Marv, its been awhile, hasn't it?" Turton said with a smirk before coming to a stop. Marv shuddered and held his ground in response. "Nice work kid." he said as he tossed the teen a parcel. "Glad to oblige sir," The teenager paused to open the package, shifting about anxiously before stating, "I'll be off now." "Of course, leave this scum with us, he won't be bothering anyone again." The teen smiled with bloodlust, re-mounted his bike and sped off.

In the beginning, there was nothing; then there was something: the Earth, the Moon, and the Sun.
God says the rest of the universe is a distraction.
   Meet John, a mild-mannered man about town residing in the small northwestern city of Featherton. Long story short, John's an asshole. It wasn't a choice he made, rather an unlikely combination of genes and unfortunate circumstances. Mainly him selling out his own father in a dark alley. Let us shift our focus onto john's dreams for the time being.
   "Ladies and Gentlemens!" Proclaimed the man in the red jacket and shiny top hat. "Welcome to Die!" he shouted through his waxed mustache in a thick Antartican accent. The stage folded around a giftbox . The antartican man cried out in pain as he was flattened into bloody wrapping paper. The wrapped gift darted into the jet black sky as a disembodied female voice softly says" Hello to the Moon," right before impacting on the frigid surface of the moon, generating a small explosion. The moon in due course, donned an angry face and breathed purple flames from its' nose. Every fruit tree on earth was burned to the ground.
   We now travel to a darkened city where the dysfunction can be felt in the air itself. The pavement beneath your feet pulsates to a tantalizingly hazy beat as you make your way through the multicolor mist of an active night club. Your sight is overwhelmed by the neon glow of every person's jewelry. The heat of every orifice Seems to swirl around your body; you lose focus as you become intoxicated by the humid environment and melt into the crowd of ever-moving bodies-- your head vibrating with the deep techno bass bump. Something awakens inside you, something vicious and dark. The heat around you becomes unbearable, as if your entire person were engulfed by flames. Ebony wings rip out of your back as your let out a horrifying roar and burn club-goers with red beams blasting from your eyes.
  John awakens, shaking violently-- he was having those dreams about Turton again. He groggily sits up in his bed and sits in a stupor for a second, then  looks at the clock and leaps out of bed. "Oh no!" John shouts,"I'm late for church again!" John dashes down his stairs to taste that sweet, sweet caffeine that coffee provides. "What was my sermon going to be about again?" he asked himself as he poured a cup, inadvertently spilling all over the kitchen floor. "Lets see..." John said aloud as he rushed to his closet to grab his suit," If a tree falls on a woman, whats a forest doing in the kitchen?" He paused as he fiddled with his tie."No, that was the opening to last week's sermon on sexism." "No matter how devoted or extremist you are, you are never truly an individual because being unique defines individuality in our culture." he combed his thinning hair and continued: "Therefore, by trying to be unique, you are just like everyone else." John smiled at himself in the mirror, "I'll suck all the joy out of my churchgoers' lives."