Sentces 12

[narrator]

The side of the gray industrial building, shimmered and wavered. Light filtered through in little slits at first and then it became a giant hole of light, spreading itself across the industrial wall like a mural of brightness. A passerby, looking into the small alley where this was taking place, consciously made the decision to keep walking and ignore any events that might cause more pain to his already miserable life.

It was light, real light, touching the earth for the first time in hundreds of years. Refracting impossibly through the concrete wall. Then something happened, someone tumbled through, and hit the ground, slapping their face on the dirty, oil-stained asphalt. Then, slowly, but almost as fast as it had appeared the light, shimmering and painting the alley in clear white light, was gone. And the only light that remained was yellow, industrial, cold and manufactured.

Charlie rolled over onto her back and took a collection of herself. She was...this wasn't New York. This was--she rolled her head back and forth, still feeling weak in all her limbs--this was somewhere else. Another place like where she had just come from, this place had none of that feeling of reality, and serenity that had lived in the world that she was in before. This place felt as artificial as it looked.

Charlie sat up and felt under her nose, a thin stream of blood was running from her right nostril and she tried her best to wipe it away, but still some blood lay smeared under her nose. She noticed someone pass by the alley, in a dark jumpsuit but they were gone, taking no notice of the bum she appeared to be, in the alley she appeared to be from.

She cleared her throat and stood up, leaning weakly on the wall. She waited for a second, steadying herself, taking that moment to find out where the hell she had ended up.

To both her right and left, where buildings. But she supposed they could be giant cement blocks as well, considering there were no windows nothing but concrete, miles high, and huge flourescent lights hanging from the side shining down yellow lifeless light. Behind her, she had seen before she stood up, was a a chainlink fence, with a sign that said "no trespassing" in big red letters on a white background. And finally, just ahead of her was something that looked like a street but Charlie had only seen one thing go by so far, and it had gone by too fast to make heads or tails over what it was.

Charlie began walking forward, feeling weak from whatever the hell had happened in that last place. She walked to the end up the alley and gasped. It was like walking into a New York of grays. The two concrete, monstrosities that she had appeared between were not the only two, it seemed that this was the only building that was anywhere. All she could see, was black asphalt around these tall things, and they were everywhere. She could see at least thirty from where she was standing. And there was nothing on the fronts either, except for sets of double doors. And around all the streets were waist high fences. It was then that she finally noticed the sky, between the lights, it was black, with small hints of gray swirling in it.

"Excuse-my-question-to-you-lady-but-do-you-now-need-assistance?" It was a hollow, cracking and robotic voice. The words ran together, and came out sounding like one long word. Charlie turned, still holding to the edge of the building and almost felt her legs buckle beneath her.

In front of her was a long, thin man but he...it wasn't a man. It was shaped, like a person, but it was too tall, and too thin. It wore a suit, that was unlike any suit she had ever seen. It wore black pants, and a white undershirt that appeared to be covered by a collered shirt, but the collared shirt, came together at the throat and formed into a thin black line that might have formed a tie. But it's face was what had startled her. It was smooth, black, and oval, and though all she could see was a dim reflection of herself in it, she got the unmistakable impression of being watched from eyes, in that black head, she could not see.

"Lady-are-you-in-a-good-state?"

Charlie, for just a moment, almost torched the thing but then she regained her composure. It stared at her for a second or two longer, and she could almost feel it waiting so it could ask her another question, but she spoke up. "Um, yeah, I'm okay..."

The thing looked down at her curiously, and didn't move. Charlie continued.

"Do you, ah, I mean, could you direct me to..." She didn't know where she wanted to go. Just as she finished saying that something flew by, again too fast to even see.

The thing tilted it's head, the way one might look at a dog, or a child. "The-place-most-meeting-your-desire-is-the-[SENTCES 12 WELCOME CENTER]" Its voice became loud and commanding, a different voice altogether.

Charlie shook her head and backed up against the wall a little. "How do you know what I want?"

The thing, didn't move, just stared at her blankly or what appeared close to that, it was hard to tell. But after a long pause, it spoke, "The-desire-closest-to-what-your-brain-displays-is-[SENTCES 12 WELCOME CENTER]"

Charlie felt sick at what it had just said. Mind reading...she shivered. The thing started to move in a awkward manner down the street but she called out to it before it got more than two steps. "Stop, what, er, how do I get to the welcome center?"

The thing stared at her, and then started talking, as if it had never stopped. "There-are-many-solutions-but-the-one-you-desire-is-this..."

----

Charlie walked into the place that machine had called [TRANSPORT HUB 3], it was only three blocks from where she had met the thing, and the thing had also insisted on accompanying her. And she although it gave off a creepy superior vibe, she had allowed it, simply because it was so helpful.

The thing was actually called Allen, but it had said it [ALL-EN]. Allen said it was a management type machine, and it had worked in something called ColeSpeary, manufacturing company before it got liquidated. Now it worked as a informational machine type 3, which meant that it worked as a source of information to anyone who needed it or wanted it. Allen said that most people commenly called it a pest, because of its persistance in aiding others. Charlie could understand why.

The Transportation hub had a few people in it, most were coming or going. It was a strange, one room building. There were four things on the wall, far from the entrance, they looked like doors, but she watched a woman--wearing something like a miniskirt, but it had long fringe that hung down past her knees--she watched her walk into the door, and it turned a bright, and dark, yellow, then a purple. But she had walked into it, not through it, it was like the hole she come from sort of. She had very little hope vested in that idea though.

"That-transport-at-the-end-looks-free-of-use." Allen pointed out. Charlie looked at it warily, then approached it. Allen hovered by her side, walking in long awkward steps with its spindly extended legs.

There was a small panel, on the side and she looked at it confused. Allen stuck out a hand, but it wasn't a hand it was just a long, pointer that potruded from its arm. Allen punched the buttons, very quickly, and then put its pointer back down at its side. Charlie looked at the thing and watched the hard wall in front of her turn into a yellowish-purplish, shimmering, waving, liquid of solids.

Allen spoke then, "Would-you-like-me-to-wait-here-for-your-return? A-machine-such-as-me-is-not-capable-of-using-a-transport."

Charlie looked at it, and nodded. "Go ahead, why not?"

Allen made an attempt to answer but Charlie stepped into the wall, hoping that she would appear back home.

She stepped through into a white room, with doors on every end, and in the center there was a man, in a white jumpsuit, standing inside a circular kiosk.

She stepped to the side, as the door-thing behind her, started shimmering, yellow and purple again.

[punkLECH]

Jack Marvin looked up from the morning newspaper. His eyes blurred for a second as they watered in response to the change. He put his hands up to his face and rubbed his knuckles into them, yawning, which only caused his eyes to water more. Behind his closed eyelids, phantom impressions of the words EURO BEATS OUT THE DOLLAR hovered, as if the Wall Street Journal wasn't finished with him yet.

Blinking the haziness away, Jack stared across the coffee shop floor, gaze coming to rest on a small painting that hung over a table occupied by two laughing stockbrokers. It was of a trainyard at night, moon high and full, swathed in thin, translucent clouds that seemed to drift even as he stared at them. The train itself was coal black with a silver sheen, reflecting the moonlight just enough to silhouette its entire length. He found it oddly disconcerting that the painting would be hung in such a bright place.

Outside, the bustle of the city had retreated to a buzz in the back of his mind. The sun had long since reached its apex. He looked down at his watch, a cheap quartz knockoff, and noted that his lunch was more than half over. The sandwich on his plate lay half-eaten, almost staring up at him accusingly as if to say "Finish me, or you'll regret it." He considered it momentarily, and felt his stomach churn. Things were not going well.

Of course, things hadn't been going well for quite some time. Jack had arrived in the city only two months ago, fresh out of Duke University business school. He'd never been here before, but he thought he'd known what to expect. Life moving at the pace of a jackrabbit on crack. His professors had always noted that he had an extremely sharp mind, picked up on things quickly, and that that would serve him well when he came to the Greatest City on Earth. He'd certainly believed it, as well.

He'd secured a tiny flat for an outrageous price, then pounded the pavement until he'd landed an internship with a robust, yet small firm. Two weeks later he was on the floor of the Stock Exchange, trading slips of paper at an equal pace with trading elbows. His voice was strained almost to the point of squeaking like an adolescent's. In the last three days alone, he'd gotten seven hours of sleep. People and images swam before him instead of stabilizing, much like being underwater, only the sounds weren't muted. Even the gentle voice of the cashier was like a stab in the brain when he'd asked Jack if he'd like whipped cream with his latte.

This morning, when he'd stumbled into work, bleary-eyed and deprived of a shower due to a malfunctioning alarm clock, his boss had told him it might be best to take the day off, some "you time", he'd called it. "This isn't your life yet, Jack. Don't kill yourself before you even have a chance to live," he'd said. Jack had just muttered a simply "Good morning" and gone straight to his cubicle, allowing his legs to carry him there and his hands to pry open the latches on his briefcase in the same robotic ritual as the day before. If he could last just one more day, make one more good trade, then he'd gladly return to the top of the brownstone tower and bury himself in a heap of laundry and papers, snoring away until his stomach (or a three-alarm fire, whichever was more pressing) woke him to start the cycle all over again. He just had to get there.

The only problem was, he knew he was going to burn out before the day was over. It was only a matter of time. But he had to try.

Reaching down to grab hold of his briefcase, still transfixed by the eeriness of the picture on the wall, Jack grabbed hold of the smooth plastic handle and felt something jab the underside of one of his knuckles. He pulled his hand back in alarm, sucking on his finger, then pulled it out to look at it. A tiny droplet of blood formed on his skin, stinging slightly. He bent sideways in his chair, bending to look at the briefcase but saw nothing. He looked at his finger again and wiped the blood on a napkin. Jack felt a shiver rush through him. He glanced at the picture again. Was the moon a little bit fuller than it had been before?

Carefully, he reached for his briefcase again. This time the handle cooperated. Must've just pinched it in the hinge he thought to himself. He shook his head briefly, trying to get a little more out of the latte, anything to get his legs moving again. He walked up to the counter, paid the bill, and stepped out onto the sidewalk, merging with the flow of foot traffic, headed inexorably back to the purgatory of his day.

Passing through the metal detectors, Jack felt another shiver, this time colder somehow, and a bit more prolonged. Man, just a few more hours. Come on! Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something shimmering. He cleared his throat, picked up his things, and moved onto the floor. The crowd of ricocheting voices and flailing arms carried him into the center like a sinister undertow.

He looked up at the monitors, watched the ticker running past, took note of the numbers. Figures and statistics flowed through his mind, starting up the gears. At least he had that, when all was said and done. No matter how weary his body was, once the numbers took hold, he almost didn't need legs to stay afloat.

Thirty five! Thirty six! I'll give you three for eight fifty! Four! Five! Ten! The paper flew and the ink bled. Jack didn't even see faces anymore. He saw shadows. Still the numbers added up. Still the elbowing, the shouting, the deals and the counter-deals. Buy! Sell! All of it! Ok, done! And on to the next. The shimmering at the edges of his vision had grown more prevalent, but Jack blocked it out and kept plodding away. As long as he could keep the numbers running and the paper flying he'd manage to keep from drowning. He clung to them as if they were nothing but a small splintered plank in this raging sea, keeping his head up just long enough to reach sight of the shore.

A shiver took him again, sending a small convulsion up his spine, but Jack shook it off, pushing in front of a tall, lanky competitor to get at whoever he was conversing with, whoever would respond to the figures he came up with and spit a few back at him until he or the other was satisfied. And he moved on again, and again, staggering, nearly tripping. He became vaguely aware of a throbbing in his skull, just above the temples. The shimmering was closer, if it was possible. He whipped his head away for a moment and felt dizziness nearly overtake him. Was there something there, beyond the sea of faces? Was he almost to the shore?

It came all at once. Someone grabbed him by the shoulder. No, underneath his arm. He'd almost fallen. Wait, no, he had fallen. His knees were no longer responding. Jack heard a gruff voice, then the support underneath him gave way as the hands were torn away and he was plummeting, sinking beneath the surface, dead weight, sure to hit bottom, a victim of the storm. He felt another shiver, this time warm instead of cold, and saw the shimmer below him, widening, glowing yellow, then purple, then black. He opened his mouth to scream, then felt water filling his lungs. He screamed, and the world went dark.

((tbc))