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2006-06-17 21:21:57 ET Well,I'm sleep-deprived so I think I'll write.... I gave my 2 weeks notice at my job on Wednesday. I'm going to Guitar Center tomorrow to get a set of drums and a new guitar (all for cheap, cheap, cheap.) So so far I need to learn how to play the guitar, continue learning linux, learn Asterisk, Apache, Solaris, BSD, and programming. And I have 2 months to do all that. Hopefully it'll happen. Uhm.. howabout some fiction? I don't have any inspiration right now. So I'll just write. Usually it turns out to be crap but I might like it later down the line. ****************************** Sitting in a dark room, with a rifle in hand, waiting for the righr time to open up the window and look outside. Cigarrette smoke fills the room but nobody smokes around here. Must be a nostalgic memory of things past. The light streaming through the shades of the open window destroys the shadows of night with its rays. He gazes, with blood-shot, sleep-deprived eyes at the window. Separating him from the resto f the world, he will approach it soon. The clock strikes the hour. A chair is pulled up to the window. The shades are drawn. The gun is aimed outside. The barrel stick out like the stub of a branch cut-off from the building. He looks through the scope. His eyes adjust to the lens. He relaxes his arms. Takes a deep breath. Holds it. Exhales. Wait. Target sighted. Aims. Fires. JFS's head explodes in a curled ball of red splatter. For a brief second he is nothing but a Pollock painting hung upon the bust of the, now former, president. His wife just screams beside him. People screaming dead in the car ahead. He moves back, away from the window, into the smoke-filled darkness. There's a certain dampness to the room. That's the sign that it's over. It's all going to be over real soon. His mission is complete. From this point on he will start a new. Now he just waits for the signal. The room lights up like a flare gun fired in a hall of mirrors. Shattered awake sounds fill his ears. Followed by silence. Followed by a constant beeping welcoming him back. "Welcome back, Sir. Did you enjoy your trip?" the guide is smiling, handing over the red box containing the assassin's personal belongings. The rifle and the spent cartridge are collected and safely put away for the next person up. They will be cleaned, polished, brought into mint condition. The man pats the red suitcase with his hand. His wife was right to recommend this new spa to him. It really got the tension off his shoulders. He can go back into the office feeling like a new man. Stepping outside of the main office into the lobby he sees the crowd of people awaiting their chance to go back. A man with a mustache recognizes him from somewhere. "So? How was it?" "It was good. You only get one shot but you can pay for as many angles as you want." "But what if you miss?" "They allow for a small percentage of error. Magic bullets." "Yeah, I can't wait to try it. First time for me to go back in time. I'm trying to make it as exciting as possible." "Yeah, it's exciting to be a part of history. Be in the same event with millions of others." They wished each other well and parted ways. Somewhere, sometime the sun was slowly coming up over the horizon. Jim Garrison was sweating in bed, having a nightmare of prophetic circumstances. **** Yeah, I'll title it "The Dream Theatre of Jim Garrison". First draft. Dialogue's probably crappy and too straight forward. I think it was my friend Ilya G. who had the idea for the whole "amusement park ride" of the future thing. |
