|Random Logic, Part One|
It's part one because I think there may be a bigger story here. I am excited about this thing, though I'm not really sure why. It did not come off quite like I had expected, but... You can't have everything.
And don't ask me where this came from - I was sitting in the bank drive through, and *wham* the image popped into my head.
Go figure. :)
Another boring day, she thought as she nimbly counted out $45.76, sorted and stacked the bills, and then stuffed the lot into an envelope. Slipping it into the tube, she hit the "Send" button and activated the microphone in a practiced, sure motion.
"Here you are, have a nice day!" He muttered an inaudible polite nothing and drove off. Gagh. Why couldn't some cute guy drive up in a nice- The next car in line was rattling the bullet-proof windows with the might of its subwoofers. As it pulled level with the vacuum tube machine, the throbbing, pumping bass faded away and the tinted window rolled down to reveal a male specimen thought only to exist in dreams.
Dark brown hair, cut and combed into a mod yet subdued look. His short, trim sideburns framed a clean-shaven jaw that was strong, but not inelegant. And those eyes! Even from four feet away behind thickly armored glass she could see their crystalline blue glint as he looked up at her.
His eyes met hers, and he smiled. It was genuinely brilliant, reaching all the way to his eyes, and revealed a set of teeth that any dentist would kill for. He reached over into the tube, clipping the check into it, and pushed the send button.
Breaking protocol - He's so...! - she switched the mic on. In her most chipper-not-ditzy voice, making sure to add lots of friendly-but-not-flirty smile into its tone, she asked, "How are you doing today?"
His reply was clear and equally bright, "Oh! Just fine. Couldn't ask for a nicer day." Behind his perfectly balanced voice could be heard the music. Techno-ish rhythm, but the lyrics did not sound anything like any dance music she'd ever heard.
"I know it! What can we do for you today?" She struggled to maintain in charge of herself. This was almost too much!
"Just cash that, thanks." That music... It seemed to call to her, even through the fog of unreality. Pulling the check from the tube, she examined it. Signed, with the account number below in neat, legible Arabic numerals. Even his signature was legible! "Thomas R. Hasting" it read, in neat but elegant script.
She could not find his name in the account register, though. Sighing, she leaned near the mic again.
"Sir?" What a pity that politeness forbade her using his name! "Could you send your drivers' license in, please?"
"Oh, sure!" Again, that music... But this time she caught some of the lyrics: "...prison made of lies we see what we want to see..."
The words seemed to reverberate in her brain. She shook a sudden feeling of loneliness off and counted his money out. Placing it and the license neatly in the envelope, she sent it off with a whooomsh of vacuum pumps.
She put the receipts away, cleared her calculator, and pushed the mic button just as the tube arrived. "Thank you, have-" she began, when suddenly a new song started.
It was loud, REALLY loud - somehow the volume had jumped when it started - and the elegant Thomas R. Hasting was staring fixedly out the window, fingers tapping on the steering wheel and head bobbing slightly with the addictive and somehow ominous rhythms.
Grinding synth pads bumped around the scale, building in tension, and as they reached a peak -
His head exploded.
Red gore misted the interior of the car, and even splattered the window. So deep was her shock that she did not flinch, neither did she notice that the music had stopped. In the deep and sudden silence, she screamed.
(August 2nd, 2002, 2:54 am)
Cool...Poor guy :P *BOOM* no more head :P
(August 2nd, 2002, 2:35 pm)
yikes. that is nas-tee. and very very darkly funny. i laugh: hah! [if you don't get why it's funny, /don't/ read Catch-22.]
man, what a weird idea. i love how you sculpted most of the story to give the reader absolutely NO IDEA of what's coming. it would be so easy to put this in a horror theme, and then it's pretty blargh...
of course, if you intended the story to be serious, i just insulted you. woop.
(August 2nd, 2002, 9:22 pm)
definately needs to be more to this :P
Register to post.