Tom's Story
August 31, 2009
It was April. No, wait. Not April. July, and the desert sun stared down from the sky like an angry parent scolding a bad child, causing my face to flush and my skin to warm and my mouth to dry. I stared ahead at the blank sheet of sand before me, the only thing in every direction for miles upon miles. Except I knew that that was not true; somewhere beneath the sand hid the enemy's lair, the base for the most treacherous villain the world had ever known, and I alone was going to find it and defeat him.
Rumors swirled about this man, how he was half-machine, how he was immortal. He set up his lair in this desert for that very reason- he needed no food to sustain him, no water. Some said he gained his energy from our yellow sun. Some said he turned to a beast in the light of our moon. Only someone as tough, as strong, as smart could survive the perils of the desert. I am the world's only hope.
I pulled my last canteen from my hip to drink. I stuck out my tongue and felt the tiniest drip drop of liquid hit it. Strange, I had been sure the thing was full. Suddenly, I am full of doubt. Slowly, I open my eyes.
Snow flurries have just begun to fall. They waft through the air into my face, landing gingerly on my outstretched tongue. I sit alone at the bus stop, three walls and a bench, my book bag curled in my lap, the hood of my puffy red coat like armor around my face. I see three kids, high school age, standing off to the left side of the bus stop, and they are smoking. They do not look at me directly, but I feel their disdain in their short glances. I realize my tongue still hangs from my mouth, that I must look like a dog on a hot day.
Maybe I have a dog with me in the desert; maybe he sniffs out the enemy's location.
Suddenly, the school bus pulls up, a giant yellow ship to nowhere.
The transport ship docks at the space station, last in a line of identical transport ships stretching for miles around the station. Its doors open with a quiet whoosh. Although I am seated at the front of the ship, I allow the other passengers to file out before me. Their conversation sounds like bees as they filter by me, an indeterminable buzz where only fragments and single words catch my ear. "Freak", I hear. "...why he just sits there," I hear. "Faggot," I hear. Someone accidentally hits the back of my head with their backpack as they exit.
Finally I have the ship to myself. I see the pilot glare at me; he must be eager to stay on schedule, so I carefully collect my things and step out of the ship. I had to be certain none of the passengers, or the driver (the pilot; ships have pilots), suspected what was in my bag. My mission at the space station must go off without a hitch. My people are depending on me to succeed, to help put an end to the tyranny of the government. My people need their voices to be heard, loud and clear.
I enter the space station and remove my protective space suit that allows me to breathe in the rotten atmosphere outside. I see everyone else doing the same, shedding layers and storing them in pre-assigned locker units. As they do, their allegiances become clear. They gather together, self-sorting by style of clothes and color of skin. I look around and see none of my people here, no one with whom I can huddle and snicker and trade Magic the Gathering cards. I only see oppressors, agents of my enemies, those too dumb to see beyond themselves.
I check my notes and find my storage unit.
I hang my space suit on the little hook provided on the right side of my locker. The inside of the door has been decorated already, the bottom littered with trash. A sketch of a dragon hangs next to a photograph of my family, mother father sister and me, obviously put here to help inspire me to complete my task. A small mirror is affixed to the door as well, and in it I catch a glimpse of myself (scrawny and pale and frail and greasy), and I think I look nervous but proud. Some of my favorite books sit on the top shelf, Wheel of Time and Dragonlance, beside history and pre-algebra text books.
I glance to my left and right and see that most of the other visitors to the space station have disappeared, filling the rooms that line the hallways and seating themselves at small desks. I am expected in one of these rooms myself, am expected to sit through a series of seminars throughout the station, but first I must be sure my cargo is secure. I reach inside my bag and remove a bomb. Its appearance is discreet, a small electronic device most would not even recognize, but I hide it among the candy wrappers and video games magazines at the bottom of the locker. My plan is to retrieve the bomb at mid-day and set it off in the space station's cafeteria. The leader of the opposition, a Principal Davis, will be present at that time and his demise will send a message to all my enemies.
A bell rings to signal the start of the day's seminars, and I rush off to Physical Science.
Third seminar of the day, an interactive one about throwing red balls at people who can't run very fast, and finally I see a familiar face. It belongs to a girl named Lily whose company I might enjoy if she didn't make me feel unsure of myself and somewhat queasy. We share many interests (she loaned me her copy of the Hobbit), and so I feel compelled to tell her my mission. I want her to be safe, and not go anywhere near the cafeteria during the Lunch seminar, and I sure that she will view me as a hero.
I am hit with a red ball first, and am sent to sit on the bleachers that line one side of the gymnasium. Lily watches me go, and during the next round of the game, she steps in front of the ball when it was clearly intended for another target. She approaches me with a smile and a wave. She is pale and thin, and tall for her age. Long dark hair, a brown that's almost black, falls to her shoulders. She looks like an elf, like a magical creature from the books we read.
"Hi, Jerry. Guess we're both pretty bad at that game, huh?" she says as she sits on the bench one level below where I am. She straddles the bench, and I imagine her riding a horse along the beach.
"Guess so," I say as I watch the game.
"You seem distracted. What's wrong?"
"Lily, I am here on an important mission today," I begin. My voice shakes slightly, so I clear my throat and continue with a bit more bravado. "Our people sent me to destroy Principal Davis. Now, I don't want you to be concerned for me. I will be perfectly safe. I don't want you to know too much in case you are captured, but I recommend you avoid the cafeteria today."
Just as I start to turn my head back towards her, I hear someone call my name from the game. I see a red ball coming straight for my head, but just as when I am playing, I cannot move in time. The ball hits my face, slamming into my nose, and I feel a tingling numbness. Tears swell in my eyes and begin to fall, plump raindrops dampening my face, before I can even catch my breath. I am mortified that Lily sees me this way.
"Who the fuck are you talking to? Your imaginary girlfriend?" Laughter erupts from the group. I turn to Lily, and see that I am alone on the bleachers. Blood from my nose forms a brown red rose on my jeans. I stand slowly and begin walking to the boy's changing room, reminding myself I will have the last laugh, and that I will have it very soon.
The bomb is back in my possession. In fact, I carry it in my hand through the hallways as I approach the cafeteria. It is disguised so that no one will suspect, so that even were I searched it would not be confiscated. My nose stopped bleeding, my face is not bruised, but I use the memory to help compel me towards the open double doors of the lunchroom. Even a hero can be nervous, even a devout follower can shake with the weight of their duty.
I enter, and assess my surroundings. Tables are filling quickly as people leave the lunch line, carrying trays with small milk containers and soup bowls. The smell is comforting, chicken noodle, and I consider ditching my bomb and the plan and my people. I touch my nose and my cause is reaffirmed.
I set down my book bag on the floor, and shift the bomb to my right hand. I wipe the sweat from the left on my jeans, across the brown red rose, and then take the bomb back in that hand. I climb on top of the lunch table closest to me, earning stares and snide comments from everyone nearby. This doesn't concern me since they won't be talking for much longer. Once Principal Davis enters the room, I will activate the bomb and that will be the end.
I raise my left arm high in the air, and wait.
My eyes fixate on the doors. I feel sweat begin to blossom on my face, under my arms. A strange tightening sensation runs through my groin and my stomach. I feel excited and alive, strong. I think about Frodo, and William Wallace, and Alice before the Red Queen. A short eternity passes.
Principal Davis enters and his eyes lock onto me. His mouth beings to open, to admonish me to standing on a table, to mock me for my blood stain or my height or my intellect or any manner of things, but before he can speak I speak.
And I shout, "Freedom! Down with oppression!" I fling my upraised arm forward, letting go of the bomb, which soars towards him. It hits the floor and pieces break off, but the bulk of it slides two feet closer and then stops. I expect a loud noise, flames, smoke. Instead, nothing.
Thick silence fills the room. Now everyone is looking at me on the table, then to the smashed mass on the floor, then back to me. Principal Davis wears a mixed expression of shock and humor.
He also looks down at the Sony Discman at his feet, and as he looks back up at me commands, "To my office. Now."
I spend my days in a off-site detainment unit, and they ship me back to prison at night. It has been reconstructed to look like my bedroom, minus my TV and computer. All my action figures are here, all my books. Robots that look like my parents guard me, and I hear them discuss plans for my eventual relocation to more secure facility. I must escape but I don't know how. My cell sits a thousand feet up at the top of a tower. When I look out the window all I see are clouds and rainbows, bird and planes.
No, wait. My cell resides at the town sheriff's. I am a lawless cowboy captured for my part in a bank robbery, but I know in time my accomplices will come to save me. For now, I must bide my time, earning the trust of my captors. I bet there will be a daring rescue on the way to hangman's noose, with gunfire and fainting ladies, and galloping horses.
My cell door suddenly opens. "Time for dinner, Jerry," my mother says sternly and walks away.
The door is wide open, and I know I could run, but I choose to stick to the plan, and wait.
It was April. No, wait. Not April. July, and the desert sun stared down from the sky like an angry parent scolding a bad child, causing my face to flush and my skin to warm and my mouth to dry. I stared ahead at the blank sheet of sand before me, the only thing in every direction for miles upon miles. Except I knew that that was not true; somewhere beneath the sand hid the enemy's lair, the base for the most treacherous villain the world had ever known, and I alone was going to find it and defeat him.
Rumors swirled about this man, how he was half-machine, how he was immortal. He set up his lair in this desert for that very reason- he needed no food to sustain him, no water. Some said he gained his energy from our yellow sun. Some said he turned to a beast in the light of our moon. Only someone as tough, as strong, as smart could survive the perils of the desert. I am the world's only hope.
I pulled my last canteen from my hip to drink. I stuck out my tongue and felt the tiniest drip drop of liquid hit it. Strange, I had been sure the thing was full. Suddenly, I am full of doubt. Slowly, I open my eyes.
Snow flurries have just begun to fall. They waft through the air into my face, landing gingerly on my outstretched tongue. I sit alone at the bus stop, three walls and a bench, my book bag curled in my lap, the hood of my puffy red coat like armor around my face. I see three kids, high school age, standing off to the left side of the bus stop, and they are smoking. They do not look at me directly, but I feel their disdain in their short glances. I realize my tongue still hangs from my mouth, that I must look like a dog on a hot day.
Maybe I have a dog with me in the desert; maybe he sniffs out the enemy's location.
Suddenly, the school bus pulls up, a giant yellow ship to nowhere.
The transport ship docks at the space station, last in a line of identical transport ships stretching for miles around the station. Its doors open with a quiet whoosh. Although I am seated at the front of the ship, I allow the other passengers to file out before me. Their conversation sounds like bees as they filter by me, an indeterminable buzz where only fragments and single words catch my ear. "Freak", I hear. "...why he just sits there," I hear. "Faggot," I hear. Someone accidentally hits the back of my head with their backpack as they exit.
Finally I have the ship to myself. I see the pilot glare at me; he must be eager to stay on schedule, so I carefully collect my things and step out of the ship. I had to be certain none of the passengers, or the driver (the pilot; ships have pilots), suspected what was in my bag. My mission at the space station must go off without a hitch. My people are depending on me to succeed, to help put an end to the tyranny of the government. My people need their voices to be heard, loud and clear.
I enter the space station and remove my protective space suit that allows me to breathe in the rotten atmosphere outside. I see everyone else doing the same, shedding layers and storing them in pre-assigned locker units. As they do, their allegiances become clear. They gather together, self-sorting by style of clothes and color of skin. I look around and see none of my people here, no one with whom I can huddle and snicker and trade Magic the Gathering cards. I only see oppressors, agents of my enemies, those too dumb to see beyond themselves.
I check my notes and find my storage unit.
I hang my space suit on the little hook provided on the right side of my locker. The inside of the door has been decorated already, the bottom littered with trash. A sketch of a dragon hangs next to a photograph of my family, mother father sister and me, obviously put here to help inspire me to complete my task. A small mirror is affixed to the door as well, and in it I catch a glimpse of myself (scrawny and pale and frail and greasy), and I think I look nervous but proud. Some of my favorite books sit on the top shelf, Wheel of Time and Dragonlance, beside history and pre-algebra text books.
I glance to my left and right and see that most of the other visitors to the space station have disappeared, filling the rooms that line the hallways and seating themselves at small desks. I am expected in one of these rooms myself, am expected to sit through a series of seminars throughout the station, but first I must be sure my cargo is secure. I reach inside my bag and remove a bomb. Its appearance is discreet, a small electronic device most would not even recognize, but I hide it among the candy wrappers and video games magazines at the bottom of the locker. My plan is to retrieve the bomb at mid-day and set it off in the space station's cafeteria. The leader of the opposition, a Principal Davis, will be present at that time and his demise will send a message to all my enemies.
A bell rings to signal the start of the day's seminars, and I rush off to Physical Science.
Third seminar of the day, an interactive one about throwing red balls at people who can't run very fast, and finally I see a familiar face. It belongs to a girl named Lily whose company I might enjoy if she didn't make me feel unsure of myself and somewhat queasy. We share many interests (she loaned me her copy of the Hobbit), and so I feel compelled to tell her my mission. I want her to be safe, and not go anywhere near the cafeteria during the Lunch seminar, and I sure that she will view me as a hero.
I am hit with a red ball first, and am sent to sit on the bleachers that line one side of the gymnasium. Lily watches me go, and during the next round of the game, she steps in front of the ball when it was clearly intended for another target. She approaches me with a smile and a wave. She is pale and thin, and tall for her age. Long dark hair, a brown that's almost black, falls to her shoulders. She looks like an elf, like a magical creature from the books we read.
"Hi, Jerry. Guess we're both pretty bad at that game, huh?" she says as she sits on the bench one level below where I am. She straddles the bench, and I imagine her riding a horse along the beach.
"Guess so," I say as I watch the game.
"You seem distracted. What's wrong?"
"Lily, I am here on an important mission today," I begin. My voice shakes slightly, so I clear my throat and continue with a bit more bravado. "Our people sent me to destroy Principal Davis. Now, I don't want you to be concerned for me. I will be perfectly safe. I don't want you to know too much in case you are captured, but I recommend you avoid the cafeteria today."
Just as I start to turn my head back towards her, I hear someone call my name from the game. I see a red ball coming straight for my head, but just as when I am playing, I cannot move in time. The ball hits my face, slamming into my nose, and I feel a tingling numbness. Tears swell in my eyes and begin to fall, plump raindrops dampening my face, before I can even catch my breath. I am mortified that Lily sees me this way.
"Who the fuck are you talking to? Your imaginary girlfriend?" Laughter erupts from the group. I turn to Lily, and see that I am alone on the bleachers. Blood from my nose forms a brown red rose on my jeans. I stand slowly and begin walking to the boy's changing room, reminding myself I will have the last laugh, and that I will have it very soon.
The bomb is back in my possession. In fact, I carry it in my hand through the hallways as I approach the cafeteria. It is disguised so that no one will suspect, so that even were I searched it would not be confiscated. My nose stopped bleeding, my face is not bruised, but I use the memory to help compel me towards the open double doors of the lunchroom. Even a hero can be nervous, even a devout follower can shake with the weight of their duty.
I enter, and assess my surroundings. Tables are filling quickly as people leave the lunch line, carrying trays with small milk containers and soup bowls. The smell is comforting, chicken noodle, and I consider ditching my bomb and the plan and my people. I touch my nose and my cause is reaffirmed.
I set down my book bag on the floor, and shift the bomb to my right hand. I wipe the sweat from the left on my jeans, across the brown red rose, and then take the bomb back in that hand. I climb on top of the lunch table closest to me, earning stares and snide comments from everyone nearby. This doesn't concern me since they won't be talking for much longer. Once Principal Davis enters the room, I will activate the bomb and that will be the end.
I raise my left arm high in the air, and wait.
My eyes fixate on the doors. I feel sweat begin to blossom on my face, under my arms. A strange tightening sensation runs through my groin and my stomach. I feel excited and alive, strong. I think about Frodo, and William Wallace, and Alice before the Red Queen. A short eternity passes.
Principal Davis enters and his eyes lock onto me. His mouth beings to open, to admonish me to standing on a table, to mock me for my blood stain or my height or my intellect or any manner of things, but before he can speak I speak.
And I shout, "Freedom! Down with oppression!" I fling my upraised arm forward, letting go of the bomb, which soars towards him. It hits the floor and pieces break off, but the bulk of it slides two feet closer and then stops. I expect a loud noise, flames, smoke. Instead, nothing.
Thick silence fills the room. Now everyone is looking at me on the table, then to the smashed mass on the floor, then back to me. Principal Davis wears a mixed expression of shock and humor.
He also looks down at the Sony Discman at his feet, and as he looks back up at me commands, "To my office. Now."
I spend my days in a off-site detainment unit, and they ship me back to prison at night. It has been reconstructed to look like my bedroom, minus my TV and computer. All my action figures are here, all my books. Robots that look like my parents guard me, and I hear them discuss plans for my eventual relocation to more secure facility. I must escape but I don't know how. My cell sits a thousand feet up at the top of a tower. When I look out the window all I see are clouds and rainbows, bird and planes.
No, wait. My cell resides at the town sheriff's. I am a lawless cowboy captured for my part in a bank robbery, but I know in time my accomplices will come to save me. For now, I must bide my time, earning the trust of my captors. I bet there will be a daring rescue on the way to hangman's noose, with gunfire and fainting ladies, and galloping horses.
My cell door suddenly opens. "Time for dinner, Jerry," my mother says sternly and walks away.
The door is wide open, and I know I could run, but I choose to stick to the plan, and wait.