Tuesday, 28 July 2009

• Currently Two Seconds to Midnight By Alan Baylock Jazz Orchestra see related

  Short Story

  It is mid to late July, and you know what that means.
  
  Four years ago, in a moment of what very few would call inspiration, I sat down and composed a little short story for my own amusement. Most of you who were not around during the "bringing it all together" summer of 2005 will probably miss the subtle xanga-related references. However, I repost it every year just because I am technically able to do so. And because I don't write more than 140 characters at a time any more. Perhaps next year I will tweet it all instead of just reposting it.
  
  All that said, it isn't a bad story really; just a silly one.
  
  For you purists, here is the link to the original post. Yes, you can still comment on it, I think. I'm not premium anymore (horrors!), so I don't know...
  Also, I have corrected the appearance of the brand name "GReggo" in accordance with a memo from the Marketing Department. Everything else is unchanged.
  
  Happy(?) reading.
  
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  passion, sweet passion

  Sometimes, I'll just be minding my own business when it starts to take over.  The feeling.  The lust.  The thirst that can only be quenched one way.  Only one way.  Yes, I sit back in my chair, close my eyes and imagine it.  What it will be like, look like, smell like..and even...taste like.  Fighting it is useless at this point.  At first, a peace begins to surround me until my conscious mind realizes that the object of my desire is not actually touching my skin at the moment, moving in perfect harmony with me.  It is at this point I begin not only to sweat slightly, but to realize that I must act immediately or burn with desire in uncontrollable agony.

  

  But what of my obligations and responsibilities?  What of them?  What of my commitments?  I put these thoughts aside as I apply some Target brand instant hand sanitizer to my perfectly sculpted hands.  Hands that will hopefully soon be satisfied.  Why? Because of fulfilled desire.  That's why.  Oh yes. Yes oh.  I'm ready.  No.  Wait.  The phone rings.  I must answer it.  Fortunately, my massive brain hyperthreads at every opportunity and I am able to dispense sound advice to clients while still salivating over that which will soon "be totally owned" by the GReggo.  I will have what I want.  I hurry the conversation along with amens and soon it is over.  I close my eyes once again and enter a dreamlike state.  I envision every detail of the encounter to come.  The sights, the sounds.  How I have imagined it!  Oh joy.  Joy will soon enrapture me.

  My lunch appointment arrives.  I hastily suggest taking separate cars so that I may take my diversion after lunch.  He falls for it.  Sucker.  We arrive at the restaurant and I attempt to hurry the interview along.  I gaze out the window as I speak, asking the typical questions and hearing the typical responses.  I fidget. I play with my food, pushing it around the plate.  I'm so filled with anticipation and desire that even eating has lost its allure.  I get my ghetto wallet out in an attempt to push this thing along.  My heart beats slightly faster with the knowledge that soon I shall be on my way.  I imagine the various drab xeriscapes that I shall glance at en route to my destination.  I hear the voice of The Master Blogger droning on about where the xeriscape post is and whether or not I should "merely assign the task to him."  I curse him under my breath.

  "What?"  asks my companion.

  "Nothing," I respond.  But isn't that a lie?  A vicious, hideous lie?  Yes it is, but who cares?  Truth telling stands in the way of mission, therefore it loses this standoff. 

  Finally I blurt out that I don't feel well and ask my companion if he could hurry up and finish. He seems offended by this, but since I have grown to loathe him so, I don't care.  We part. 

  Finally alone, I race to my destination. Several near misses with other vehicles.  "Who let the idiots out?" I ask myself.  It is hot.  I am sweating from both the heat and the eager anticipation.  Yes, my day has arrived.  Yes.  Yes.  Oh, one million sweet yesses.

  I pull into the parking lot.  I circle the building a couple of times because I sense I am slightly too early.  Plus there is a Coldplay song on the radio.  For a moment I wonder what Chris would do if he were here.  But then I realize that he has nothing to do with this.  I am ashamed.  But I press on.  I find a parking place and turn off the car.  My heart is beating faster.  Will it be as I imagined it?  I cannot say, and that worries me slightly.  I get out of my car and at first I walk in a slow, controlled manner.  It is hard to control my breathing.  After a very brief period of mediation, I get it back under control.  With determination, I move forward.  Faster.  Faster.  My heart feels as if it is racing.  I become light headed.  I walk faster.  I nearly trip.  I admire the way my Greggoshoes look against the color of the pavement. 

  I am inside.  I'm so excited now that I giggle slightly and instantly attempt to disguise it as a cough.  Giddy. That is the only way to describe me now.  My plan is all coming together.  I stop.  I'm here. I begin to raise my arm - slowly at first.  I catch the sight of my artistic hand as I begin to extend my fingers.  I pause momentarily.  Hands, please oh please don't fail me now.  Not now.  Please, I beg of you.  It's as if the whole world screeches to a halt for just a moment.  A glorious, overwhelming moment of ecstasy.  I reach.  I touch.  I caress.  I rifle.  I select.  Oh, joy.  Fulfillment.  Finally.  Oh yes.

   

  I take the three black shirts to the register and pay for them.

   

  "It's kind of hot outside to be wearing black shirts," says the cashier. 

  "Whatever," I think to myself.  A slight smile appears on my face.  I can feel it.

  I return to work and begin the second half of my day.  None of my coworkers are any the wiser.  And why should they be?

   

  
  
  
  

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