Particle Distributor

Stephen had not returned; he had gone for lunch at his usual time, but he was late to come back. Stephen was never late to come back.

I looked up from my computer screen and saw Stephen's empty desk across the row; I wondered where he could be.

After a few minutes I looked again and was startled to see two men in dark blue overalls standing at his desk, quietly discussing where to place the equipment they carried.

The older of the two motioned to the other to set his thick, brownish tablet on Stephen's desk.

Placing it delicately down, the younger turned a knob set into the top of the rectangular slab and it began to make a humming-clicking noise continuously as they went about their work.

The older man set down his black case on the floor to open it up. Inside, the case held a blue-coloured device with a numbered meter on the front of it and a wand connected by a long clear tube to the top of the coffin shaped instrument.

While he unravelled the tubing, his partner took out a glass cylinder of clear liquid from the pouch on his belt and held it out to for him to dip the wand's tip into.

I watched in stunned silence. At first I wanted to ask what they were up to, yet my curiosity took hold as they went about their task. I wanted too see what it was that they were going to do.

Once the wand was sufficiently dampened, the older workman took it from the bottle, which the younger carefully covered and placed back in its pouch, and waved the silvery rod around in the air where Stephen sat.

After only a few passes, he looked at the meter and quietly told the readings to the younger man, who wrote them down in a notepad. He then put the device away in its case, and just before he shut it closed, I was able to read the label inside the case's lining: "Particle Distributor".

What kind of work were these guys doing?

The particle distributor safely back in its case, they returned their attention to the noisy brown tablet. The older workman told the younger to shut it off, which he did with a turn of the knob, and then clicked a side latch to open the tablet's faceplate off like a lid. I could not see what was inside but they both took notes on their findings and then closed it up again.

Their tasks apparently complete, they gathered their equipment and turned to leave.

Sensing it would be my last chance, I made to speak up and ask what they had been doing, but before I said a word, the older workman turned to meet my gaze and his completely black eyes burned out at me with rage. My words were lost with sudden fright and he turned slowly to leave with his partner.

Once they had disappeared around the hall corner, I turned to Will at his desk next to mine.

"Did you see that?!" I asked in astonishment.

Will did not look away from his screen, "See what?"

I pointed back at Stephen's empty desk, "Those two guys at Stephen's desk, they were..."

As I spoke I looked over to Stephen's desk and stopped in mid-sentence when I saw Stephen sitting with his back to me, working quietly at his computer.

"Hey," I said, a bit stunned. "When did you get back?"

Stephen turned slowly from his screen and his eyes were as pitch black as the workman's had been.

"What do you mean?" He replied in a hollow voice. "I've been here the whole time. Haven't I, Will?"

I looked shakily from Stephen's dead eyes to Will, fearing what I would see.

His eyes shone black as well.

"Yes," Will spoke in the same hollow tone, "The whole time."

I stood up quickly and looked over the cubicle walls to see dozens of teams of workmen, all carrying their kits; all stopping to look straight at me.

And the darkness of their eyes washed over me in a silent shout.

Yes, we had all been here, the whole time.

Don't Get On The Train!

Cleaning out my desk at work yesterday, I found a note. I have no memory of writing it, yet it was in my hand-writing.

"Don't get on the train." was all that was written, along with today's date.

When did I write it? And why would I write such an odd note to myself? Those questions came to me right away, but as the day went on, another occurred to me.

The note must have been in there for months, since that was the last time I cleared out the clutter of papers in my drawers. So how come I found it the day before the date on the note?

Any later and it would have be a moot point, the date having passed, I would not have seen it in time; but in time for what?

Why did I write the note?

As I tried to do my work, my mind raced trying to remember when and why; but nothing. Then my brain started to go off into wild imaginings like: what if I did not remember writing it because I have not yet?

What if somehow, me from the future wrote the note after some terrible series of events happened in the future all starting with me getting on the train, and I am trying to stop them from happening?

I chuckled to myself on that one for a bit, and then I noticed the red spots on the corner of the note. Faded and dried, they could have been red pen, yet they had too much of a brown hue to them for it to be ink.

Possibly coffee, I rationalized. Though, in the back of my head I thought of the fact I hate coffee.

I hardly spoke when I got home after work; I just kept going over the note and what it meant as I ate dinner and tried to watch TV. Through restless sleep I dreamt of a horrible train wreck on the subway and the pain of the screeching impact woke me up so I could not shut my eyes again without picturing the burning wreckage where my mangled body lay.

In an exhausted haze I got ready for work and left the house with a distracted goodbye.

Now, here I stand, waiting for the train to come; I can hear it roaring closer through the tunnels. In my head it is a rumble of dread.

I look down at the note and read its simple message once more.

Do I heed its warning from the future, or is it just some random scribbling I jotted down on the paper and forgot about in my desk?

Looking down the tunnel, the headlights of the train begin to brighten the darkness; like the present, come to bring light to the abyss of the unknown future.

As the doors of the subway car open onto the station platform, Jane looks at the dazed looking man in his suit and tie, carrying a briefcase in one hand and holding a piece of paper in the other. She frowns in disgust as she sees that he has pissed his pants.

Then she sees the poster on the wall behind him and remembers that she wanted to see the movie it is advertising.

"A Thrill-ride of Terror" it reads, "Don't get on the Train! Starts Today!"

Rain City

There used to be a saying; "When it rains, it pours."

They don't say it anymore. Now; now it just rains, all the time.

Light rain drops fall upon the brim of my wide-rimmed hat as I stand looking out from the high train platform.  I look out over the city; its tall buildings reaching out of the watery depths below.

People adapt; the world adapted.  After all that had happened; all the catastrophes, the world rebuilt itself to adapt. Adapt and thrive.

For now, there was no shortage of energy or fuel. It was all around us, it fell from the skies. Water powered everything.

The power of water harnessed in giant generators underneath the surface of the mega-structure buildings, giving us more power than we could ever use.

More than the oils that countries used to war over. More so than even the sun.

The sun.

I miss the sun.

It's hazy, yellow glow fills my memories. I can remember it shining brightly in the blue skies when I was young; it warmed my skin and made the days seem happier.

Now; now I look up and see the gray clouds, ever-present, ever pouring their chilly drops down from above.

A shiver runs through me and I clutch close my damp jacket.

Oh well, this is the world now. The city I live in; Rain City.http://youtu.be/-sNBgRObwW8

Rivals

He scoured the room; first turning over sheets of music that were already lying scattered about, covering the desk and chairs, then turning over the desk and chairs themselves; searching frantically.

Where could it have gone? He had to find it!

Running from room to room, Theo upturned every piece of bedding, furniture, and any other material big enough to hide it. In a few short moments the entire house was in a state of upheaval and he sat on the floor of the living room in a sea of papers, the morning sun shining through the windows that overlooked the sea.

His head in his hands, he rocked back and forth, racking his brains as to where he could have placed it. It had been right there on the desk in the study where he had always put it at night. He knew it.

Without realizing it, tears had begun to roll down his cheeks. He had never misplaced it before, not since the day it was given to him.

Theo's thoughts went back to that day, when he was just a boy, no older than 5 or 6, and his father had brought it home.

It's magic, his father had said as he brought it out from behind his back and held it out to Theo; a reddish, brown violin, with a bow small enough for his young hands.

The instrument did not look magical, or anything but ordinary, but even still, Theo hesitated to touch it. His father smiled and said it was okay; that it was his.

Theo remembered how light it felt, even when he was young. It weighed next to nothing, yet it was not fragile, but sturdily built. Even so, he took it gently in his left with the bow in his right.

When you play upon this violin, his father had told him in a hushed voice, you will be the greatest violinist in the world.

He looked up at his father as he said this and his smiling eyes were telling the truth.

With excited anticipation, Theo put the violin to his chin and the bow to the strings and began to play.

His father had been right.

The music he was able to play upon that violin was extraordinary, even in his youth; the masters of the instrument could not keep up. And his skills only increased as he became older.

Packed concert halls, and world-wide fame filled hi life, all because of the magic of his violin.

And when his father passed away, the notes he played at the funeral seemed to make the skies themselves open up and weep.

The violin called to him to play and he was happy to oblige it. No other musician was his equal when he played upon it.

Now, it was missing.

He was to unveil his newest suite to the world the evening and the violin was no where to be found.

Turning the expansive mansion on the hill upside down had yielded nothing.

Theo now sat in the study, where he knew he had left it and a breeze from the open window caught his attention. He had not left that open. The sheer white curtain fluttered in the soft, sea breeze as he approached the large window, its glass pane swung out wide on its hinges.

Had someone, somehow, gotten passed the elaborate alarm system and stolen his violin away?

Under the window frame on the floor Theo noticed a single sheet of music laying face up. He bent down to pick it up and rested his hand upon the sill. The alarm that should have gone off when the intruder had first entered started to sound as the weight of his hand activated the pressure sensor.

The blaring alarm seemed a distant buzzing in his ears as he looked upon the sheet of blank music in his hand. Blank, except for a single signed letter: G.

Theo crumpled the paper into an angry fist.

He shook with rage; He had snuck into Theo's home and taken his most prized possession; the one person who suspected the violin's true power, his longest and most bitter rival. Theo cursed his name under his breath as he stood in the open window that looked out over the hillside which lead to the rolling waves of the sea below, and vowed to hunt him down and get back what had been stolen.

He vowed to make him pay; Giorgio.

Haiku Stretches

Haiku Vamp 
"Look into my eyes, 
Look and see all you could be, 
Your deepest desires, 
While my fangs sink in your neck." 

Bruce's Haiku 
"My cape flutters wild, 
Wrapping me in its darkness, 
I feel safe inside, 
Where I can hide, I'm Batman." 

Flute Music

In a forest deep I came upon an old man playing on his flute.

He nodded welcome as he blew his melody and I sat upon a well-worn stump across from where he sat atop his own.

Quietly, I sat back and watched him as his knobby fingers moved deftly over the delicately carved flute; intricate designs covered its wood surface and the tune that flowed out of its hand-bored holes had a mysterious air about it.

As I watched and listened, my thoughts wandered through the trees that stood around the opening where we sat. The leaves of the branches rustled with the soft breeze that blew through them.

In my mind’s eye the late afternoon sky became the dark blue of evening with the red glow of the setting sun illuminating it from below and the milky moon from above.

The simple notes of the old man’s song became full and sinuous as they wrapped around the trees to bring them in closer and closer, until the surrounded me an all sides.

I could feel them breathing together with each other, and I began to breathe with them; I felt I was a part of the forest and it apart of me.

I closed my eyes to listen to our breathing as the flute’s melody filled my senses.

The song began to die down from filling everything, to just its first simple notes and I opened my eyes to find I was sitting back in the clearing the woods, the bright sun still lighting the azure blue sky. Nothing had changed and no time had passed.

I looked to the old man and he had become a bear, sitting just as he had been, playing his flute delicately with his furring brown paws.

“Oh, you’re a bear.” I said.

“Yes.” he replied, “And you are too.”

And so I was.

Island

http://disasterpeace.com/track/compass

Lying on the soft grass beside a cool pond she awoke to the song of the cheerful birds flitting about in the tree overhead. Her eyes opened sleepily as a smile slid across her lips. The soft curls of her hair flowed out around her head where she rested it upon the cushioned moss.

Sitting up dreamily, she stretched out her arms and yawned with daintiness. The folds of her white dress covered her legs so only her bare feet peeked out from under the hem. She wiggled her toes as she stretched and then sat cross-legged while fluffing her already perfectly fluffed hair with her fingers.

A chipmunk scurried down the tree she sat beside and ran up to sit upon her knee. She smiled at the little creature brightly and reached down at the ground behind her back to bring out a bunch of nuts in her hand.

She held them out to the tiny chipmunk, which snatched them up greedily with its little claws, stuffing them into its cheeks.

Its furry paws and puffy cheeks made her giggle out loud and the chipmunk skittered off her lap and back up to its branch in the tree. With a playful sigh she brushed the crumbs from her hands and hopped up to her feet.

Today she was particularly happy, for today was a particularly special day; a day that she had been waiting upon for some time now.

Her mood put a bounce in her step as she skipped over to the little pond and knelt down beside the sparkling water to splash its freshness on her face, washing away the night’s slumber.

She patted her face lightly with her damp palms and then shook her head like the tiny birds taking their early morning baths.

Refreshed, she got up once again and skipped a few meters away from the pond, to the edge of the green grass. She stopped and put her hands up upon what seemed to be an unseen wall that she leaned on as her eyes scanned all about; her smile grew wider with every passing moment.

The light, which had not seemed so dim before, brightened on her face with a milky white quality to it, like moonlight rather than that of the warm yellow the run sun. The light flooded in all around her and her eyes found what they had been searching for.

From further out, the grass she stood upon, along with the small pond of water and thick-trunked tree, was only a small, lone island afloat in the vast sea of space.

A clear dome covered the tiny island, which she pushed against in order to get a better look at the scene that was coming into view.

The island clears the curvature of a gray moon it hovers above and gives way to the view of a deep blue sphere, suspended amongst the stars.

The sun’s light now reflects off of the plant and creates a gentle blue aura around its curves.

The girl, standing on her tiny island, is dwarfed by the scene as they move into the center of it. She steps back from the dome’s side as the light gets brighter and stares in silence at the planet’s beauty.

The domed island continues to move on its path and tracks to the right of the big blue orb, further away from its moon. She sits herself down on a grassy mound and continues to watch as she absently pulls out a paper-wrapped package from behind her back.

She tears away the paper wrapping to reveal a neatly made cucumber sandwich and begins to eat it, all the while never taking her wide eyes away from the scene before her.

As she chews politely her little island silently moves along its path and crosses over the scene on its own trajectory into the starry infinite.

Another sigh escapes her lips as she lets her hands drop gently into her lap, this time with a hint of loneliness in it. She moves on her way, sitting on her grassy island, travelling, as she ever has, though space; all on her own.

Perhaps the wait for the next passerby will not seem so long, she thinks as she looks from the shrinking blue planet to the distant stars, a tiny red dot shimmers among them.

Perhaps.