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Nakatomi
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Nakatomi |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration 
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Nakatomi ©2000 Christopher Ward Rubbing his tired eyes, Jason walked through the bathroom door. Towel over his slender shoulder and distracted by sleepy dreams, he barely even noticed the slight musty odor which permeated the windowless room. The linoleum was cracked and torn in places around the stained sink, the paint: peeling. Cobwebs hung mockingly from the corners, gracefully gripping the wall between rust colored spots of congealed moisture. All in all, it was a fair representation of the apartments to be found in the “poorer” sections of town. It used to bother him, but that was “forever” ago, just out of school. He’d come to the city, bright-eyed and full of useless knowledge. He rode into town on a paper train called “degree,” fully expecting to make his fortune in the market by the end of the first year. But the first year passed as a junior nothing, then the next and the next. Five years and no luck later, he realized he hadn’t progressed much. The only difference between his days now and the days when he first moved here was that the moldy tile didn’t bother him as much. Sighing, he regarded his expression in the mirror. These days, he wasn’t sure if it was the poor quality of the reflective surface, or just that his skin had turned worn and faded. His hair, once a darkened blonde, now appeared a lifeless brown. Eyes once a brilliant blue now seemed more like a dingy river. How, at twenty-seven, he managed to look fifty, was beyond him. He wondered and worried often that he was going to die alone and unknown. Uttering another despaired sigh, he rubbed the stubble on his chin. He was always amazed that it could grow, as if by magic, overnight. The thought brought a wry grimace to his lips, closest thing to a smile his face would form these days. He shifted his slight bulk away from the mirror and went about his morning rituals. It was an ingrained habit these days - everything by rote. There was no originality left in his life, save the quiet anger which burned constantly. He wasn’t really aware of it, as it was as stolid of a companion as his routine. But it was there none-the-less. While he was basking beneath the cool spray of a weak shower-head, the dreams he’d once had of changing the world sat on a shelf in the kitchen, gathering dust. He had once pondered, before the boredom made him forget, that perhaps he’d spent his allotted creativity before he turned twenty-one. And so it was that his half-finished novel, the dreams of a one-time creative genius, was now no more than yellowed pages taking up space. Finally, he came to stand beside the pale door of his studio apartment. He calmly flipped the single light off and was leaving the apartment at precisely 8:30AM. He paused to breathe the somewhat cleaner air in the hallway, distantly noting that the Alversons couldn’t be heard this morning. Usually they were yelling at each other, while Bill Alverson prepared to go to work. He turned and locked his door. Taking the twenty-two steps down to the first floor (the elevators hadn’t worked in the three years he’d been in this particular building), he paused before the double doors separating the “here” from “there,” then stepped out into the throng of anonymity rumbling down 59th street. Attired in his gray suit of false prosperity, Jason blended with the living crowd seamlessly. Long years of practice allowed him to flow along the sea of bodies without exertion. Mindlessly, his feet slapped the dull ground which carried hopes straight into buildings designed to crush it. Slender edifices, sturdy and prosperous, they craved nothing more than the lives of those inhabiting them. They promised wealth and fame for nothing more than a lifetime’s worth of pain and effort. “Give us fourteen hours a day on wages too low to support yourself, and we’ll give you a chance at the world when you’re too old to appreciate it,” they promised in seductive whispers. But what they never told, was that the chance was a small one indeed, and only likely to be increased if you married the CEO’s daughter or caressed his erected ego as you knelt beneath a giant walnut desk. These unspoken words were never understood though, until the soul had already been sold and you were much too deeply entrenched in despair to extricate your hopes. A few made it out of the morass of mediocrity though, very few. And those who made it out, did so in their own, unique way. Some would simply move, favoring small houses of failed aspirations in the Midwest over the tiny apartments of degradation in the city. Others would trade professions inter-city, becoming policemen and law writers, intent on making the slaves of their former lives miserable. Then there were people like Al Lindeman. Al had worked with Jason for two years before he found his way out. He had always been the cheery one - the guy with dark, hollow eyes, but sunshine dreams. For the two years that Jason knew him, he took hits like they were nothing against his optimistic armor. But one day Al’s armor wore thin, the final blow fell, and Al made his choice to take his own path out of the business. Shame it was through a window on the twenty-second floor of the Nakatomi building. But even events such as Al’s death held little interest for long. The ever-growing press for more production, more useless reams of paper and bytes to be processed dulled even those with the most morbid fascinations. If someone were to ask Jason about Al Lindeman, he’d have to work hard to bring forth a recollection. Though he was fully accustomed to the scene, Jason couldn’t help but look on in wonder still, as long, black limousines passed slowly through the angry traffic of the city. His dreams rode with the heartless chariots, tied securely to the bumpers. Sometimes, the sight of that prosperity was all that kept him off the twenty-second floor of the Nakatomi. It was also a constant reminder of where he wasn’t. He paused with the rest of the sheep at the corner of 59th and Broadway, waiting mindlessly for the signal to release them from their enforced stasis. As he stood there, by chance at the fore of the mass, he watched enviously as one of the limos pulled to a stop in the lane turning onto 59th. The darkened window in the back slid smoothly down, evidence of a machine controlled descent rather than human. A rotund hand stuck partway out the opening and dropped the remains of a chewed cigar to the oily tar below. The hand retreated and the window, once again by machine, returned to its former location. The light switched from blood to green and the throng pushed forward. As Jason walked by the hood of the car, he peered inside. The light at his back provided a clear view of the interior and the gay man sitting in the rear drinking from a wine glass while he chewed maniacally on another helpless stogie. The man looked up, and his eyes met Jason’s. Whether disdain or indifference was uncertain, but the emotion which filled the man’s eyes was anything but benign as he turned arrogantly from Jason. Of their own accord, Jason’s footsteps faltered. He found himself outside the crowd moving endlessly behind him as he faced the black car. It wasn’t thought, but rather the anger surfacing which caused him to approach the back of the vehicle. He could still see inside as he reached for the door handle. The man inside had yet to realize someone was about to intrude on his demesne. As he pulled up the handle, Jason was rewarded with a look of shock and a quick scrambling for the locks from the portly “gentleman” behind the darkened windows. In one motion, Jason pulled open the door and jumped inside. The red-faced man was burbling protests and reaching for his cellular phone, which Jason promptly grabbed from him and threw to the floor. He looked up toward the driver. The partition between the front and the back of the car was up though, leaving the back in a state of false illumination. in all likelihood, the man in the front didn’t even know of Jason’s entry. His lips turned upward into a feral smile as he turned back to the now cowed “suit” in the seat next to him. Feeling more alive than he had in years, Jason hopped across to the seat opposite. He plopped down into the cushions of decadence and regarded the frightened man with a spark of humor in his brightening eyes. Peripherally, he soaked in the remainder of his new cell. Black cloth and cherry wood imitations stared back at him, lavishly washing him with a pallid hue of menace. “What do you want,” the man demanded, attempting a demeanor of bravery. Jason wasn’t fooled for a moment. He would have to be the fool this man assuredly took him for to miss the veins pulsing madly below his opulent haircut. Particles of sweat, full of fear and uncertainty, formed at his forehead and began to funnel down rivulets of fleshy skin. The sight of such obvious disregard for effort added another log to Jason’s internal blaze. But the cold laughter in his eyes soothed the pain burning in his chest as he simply grinned his teeth at the man and reached to pour a glass of chilled wine for himself. He drained the glass, then let out an appreciative sigh, smacking his lips dramatically. A loud burst of unbalanced laughter soon followed as he congratulated himself for being so obviously funny. The inertia of the limo slowed as it pulled to another stoplight. Tinkling on the floor where he’d dropped it, the glass rolled between the older man’s feet. Jason reached out a hand and placed it in warning on the man’s arm. The flesh was soft and warm beneath. It reminded him of the texture of gelatin left a bit too long in a warm room. His carefully manicured nails made small, white indents in the fat man’s skin, marking it like a reversed tattoo. The man pulled his arm back from the door handle, his eyes intently attacking Jason’s. But Jason wasn’t looking at the man’s eyes, he was looking at the place where their hands had touched. The skin which had been white a moment before was now turning an angry red. Welts slowly lifted on the surface, remnants of a brief contact. Jason stared down at his hands, distracted. From beneath one fingernail he removed a yellowed piece of skin. He lifted it to his eyes, marveling at the feel and appearance of its fragility. Almost imperceptible, yet it was still a piece of the man before him. Amazing how easy it was to take away a portion of a person... all through a mere touch. He placed the disembodied skin on his right knee and pressed his hand into his own arm. Taking it away, he noticed the same transformation from white pressure to the red anger. Under his fingernail again was another piece of skin. He cast his uncertain eyes up to the man. He was watching Jason intently, a look of fear being replaced by a morbid sense of curiosity. It was obvious that neither knew what was happening, but that both were bound to the events inextricably. The limo lurched forward again into traffic. Jason’s weight shifted, causing the man’s piece of skin to fall to the floor even as he dropped his own skin. Regaining his balance, Jason bent to retrieve the fallen remnants of mortality. He picked them up and examined them, his eyes passing repeatedly back and forth between the shreds in his hands and the man across from him. “I can’t tell the difference,” he stated quietly in wonder as the limo paused for another stop. The man sat looking on in silence. His face showed neither anger nor fear now, only a mild sense of sadness. Jason let the pieces fall to the floor and stepped out of the car. The man watched him walk away with a muttered apology and his head downcast. He considered briefly calling the police, but the broken young man walking away from him was surely paying more now for his abrupt insanity than anything the useless courts could inflict. A final look at Jason’s retreating back and then the man reached for the door, pulling it closed. He lit a cigar and looked thoughtfully through the darkened window into the thrall of people walking like drone ants across the littered sidewalks. It was three days later that the man sat again in his car. Glancing on the front page of the newspaper, he nodded with a smile noticing his stocks were up two percent. Flipping it open, he noticed a small article on the third page about a poor young man who’d jumped out a window of the Nakatomi. He looked up at the tall building, wondering what could possess someone to do something so drastic, then recalled the forlorn face of the young man from a few days before. Shaking his head in silence, he returned his attention and continued through the paper until he found the money market recounts. [This message has been edited by Christopher (edited 10-26-2000).] |
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| © Copyright 2000 C.G. Ward - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Severn Member Rara Avis
since 1999-07-17
Posts 7704 |
Well..you know what I think... rocks  < !signature-->"He looked across the silky surface of the Severn... it was a famously difficult river with fierce tides..." From Jack Maggs |
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Victoria
since 2000-08-12
Posts 5869 |
I will have to look back and read some more of your previous proses..this was wonderful Christopher..you do have a talent for writing.. ~Victoria~ A poem is never finished, only abandoned. - Paul Valery (1871-1945) |
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SpitFire Member Elite
since 2000-04-19
Posts 2396 |
~Ahh,...think I'll have to agree with Victoria Chris,...you DO have a talent,...and oh how I admire it! hee. . This is one of my first visits here in Prose but I'ma go back and check out some other stuff too. This was the perfect size morsel of written entertainment for my day. Thank you C. "Mindlessly, his feet slapped the dull ground which carried hopes straight into buildings designed to crush it.",...for some reason this line sticks in my head,...*sigh*. *Peace your way. |
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Nicole Senior Member
since 1999-06-23
Posts 1835Florida |
"It used to bother him, but that was “forever” ago, when he’d was just come out from school. He’d come to the city, bright-eyed and full of useless knowledge. He rode into town on a paper train called “degree,”..." ...when he'd was just come... (lol HMMmmm) Directly following that sentence is another one, starting with 'He'd'...you know how I am about the same word too close together. If you keep both, it sounds a little too remedial. See Dick run. Run Dick run. seewhatimean? Same thing here: "Uttering another despaired sigh, he rubbed the stubble on his chin. He was always amazed that it could grow, as if by magic, overnight. The thought brought a wry grimace to his face, closest thing to a smile his face would form these days." All sorts of 'faces'. "He wasn’t really aware of it, as it was as stolid companion as his routine." Should that be 'it was as stolid of a companion as his routine.'? "He calmly flipped the single light off and was leaving the apartment at precisely 8:30AM" I can't tell you why, but this just doesn't sound right to me. It's like the tense was switched, or something...either that, or I'm tired.  Either way, just noting the fact that I seriously stumbled on that line."Some would simply move, favoring small house of failed aspirations in the Midwest..." Should that be 'favoring a small house of failed aspirations...'? "The ever-growing press for more production, more useless reams of paper and bytes to be precessed dulled even..." I know precessed is a word, but I have never heard of bytes being precessed. I've heard of bytes being PROcessed... "Sometimes, the sight of that prosperity was all that kept him of the twenty-second floor of the Nakatomi." Maybe "off" the twenty-second floor? "The man looked up,and his eyes met Jason's. Whether disdain or indifference, Jason couldn't tell, but the emotion which filled the man's eyes was anything but benign as he turned arrogantly from Jason." It's kinda like the Brady Bunch...Marsha, Marsha, Marsha...Jason, Jason, Jason.  "The man sat looking on in silence. His face showed neither anger now fear now, only..." neither anger NOR fear now. Now that all that nasty griping is out of the way, I can goosh praise.  The details in this piece are signature to you, absolutely vivid. I swear Chris, you could be writing about a sidewalk, and make it a colorful and vibrant read! (brat) This line, perfect:"I can't tell the difference," he stated quietly in wonder as the limo paused for another stop. Totally sums it all up. Jason has spent years resenting and worshiping that lifestyle. Everyt single thing that fat man represented, all of it...was this pinnacle of a dream to Jason. Unobtainable, wanted, and detested. All of it...and he finally realizes that outside the little bubble we call 'society' or 'life' or 'social status'...there is no difference between Jack or Jill or Sam or Fred. All of his dreams/delusions shattered against the 'big-picture' of reality. Very very well done, Chris. Like this many bol. Nic [This message has been edited by Satiate (edited 10-26-2000).] |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
Well. This blew me away. Your talent is incredible. Please!!! Submit! |
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Marilyn Member Elite
since 1999-09-26
Posts 2621Ontario, Canada |
Well Chris. This is completely different from your fantasy format. This stings of reality. You are an amazing writer sweets. I have one question though? Bad week at work love?...lol. |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
K - I do? LOL - Must've written me at home, eh? I'll check it tonight - rocks is good, right? Victoria - Thank you very much! I appreciate you taking the time to read! A - I do??? Thanks chick - 'preciate it muchly so, I do, I do! Peace 'n Hugz!Nic - Don't like you no more... grrrr - LOL - ok, so I do, and I very much appreciate your help - all fixed now!!! Thanks lady - you're an awesome editor!!! Sharon - Well now - that would put me in control, according to our conversation last night Thanks lady - let me make sure everything's in order, and we'll see what happens from there!Mar - Cuuuute! Well they do say to write what you know! But I don't work in "the City," and our building only has four-stories...lol, so no worries about me jumping - Thank you though - I like trying different things.C [This message has been edited by Christopher (edited 10-26-2000).] |
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
Awesome story Chris! I liked this one much even though it deviants from your normal style, the ending was great, especially fitting. And your building is four stories? Well a human being reaches terminal velocity at three stories so you could, in theory..... But you better not, I need to read more! Abrahm Simons "I'm not sick, but I'm not well, and I'm so hot, cause I'm in Hell." - Harvey Danger |
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Alwye
Moderator
Member Elite
since 1999-06-16
Posts 3850In the space between moments |
WOW Chris...definitely different than your normal style, but it sure packed a punch. I loved the ending, I thought it was very fitting. Well done my friend! *Krista Knutson* "One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar." Helen Keller |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
imagery, imagination, flushing out the characters frailties... well done... and before I read all the responses, I wanted to tell you "submit"...somewhere...anywhere...please! Karilea If I whisper, will you listen?...KRJ |
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Irie Senior Member
since 1999-12-01
Posts 1493Washington State |
Hey Chris..... I can't finish reading this tonight but I promise I'll finish tomorrow. Then I'll tell ya what I think.....so far, I'm hooked. ~Sheri "The things that come to those that wait may be the things left by those who got there first" |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Abe - I don't like you anymore- LOL Thanks bud - glad this was met well... I was concerned the shift wouldn't be nice... LOL Krista - thank you lady - your op means much to me!!! Kari - See? Always trying to dominate me... geez - maybe we'll look into it - though I have no idea where this would fit...? Thanks lady, for reading. Sheri - ok, I'll be buggin' ya 'til you do! Thanks all - C |
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Irie Senior Member
since 1999-12-01
Posts 1493Washington State |
OK, OK...so I wasn't back the next day as I promised I would be. But I'm here now....I've read.... And this is awesome Chris. The cruelties of the world are harsh, and you've made that quite clear in this piece. Enjoyed! ~Sheri "The things that come to those that wait may be the things left by those who got there first" |
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Rosebud1229 Senior Member
since 2000-04-05
Posts 1813North Carolina |
Christopher, This is a very good story, though it is filled with so much sadness, Jason striving to succeed but never getting there. Sadness and reality strike hard, as he realizes after Al's suicide that he is no better off. Wanting what the man in the Limo has but will never even imagine much less get. I have empathy for Jason, because it seems that he thought success would bring happiness. There's a lesson to be learned here, that sometimes life isn't always about money. It seems that from the very start that's all Jason ever wanted was to be successful and with lots of riches. How can one be happy if they are working their life's away. Somehow he got so bogged down that he lost his dream and his life. This wasn't an excellent lesson in life and happiness. |
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