Post by jh1980 on Sept 24, 2007 17:00:10 GMT -1
Title: Urban Degeneration
Theme: Technology
Genre: Drama, if anything. Dystopian.
Rating: 15
Feedback: Welcome, public.
Warnings: Some foul language, some sexual references.
Notes: Inspired by Sartre's "The Age of Reason", and the video for Radiohead's "Just." Views expressed are not necessarily the author's own, and any similarity of characters to real people whether living or dead is entirely co-incidental.
Daniel sat on the bed, staring at the mostly-full box of condoms on his shelf. It sat there glowing with its bright colours, mocking him, reminding him that his time was running out, the 'use by' date showing how long it was since he last had sex. He didn't care. An odious piece of technology, he thought, snorting loudly. Which idiot thought it was a good idea to have to put a plastic bag on your cock every time you wanted to get intimate anyway? Getting up, he put on a long coat, and walked into the street, the dull grey skies reflecting his mood, the tangled wires of the telegraph poles buzzing lightly like a swarm of malevolent hornets.
Daniel crossed the street to his local pub, entered the door, and walked up to the bar. A long row of non-descript lagers lined the worktop. One new lager stood out - filtered with ice for extra chill. Catching the barman's eye, Daniel ordered a pint, and taking it, walked slowly to his usual table in the corner. Huddling down, he observed the bubbles rising languorously to the top of the glass, and slowly he took a sip, closing his eyes and savouring the sour taste of the beer, and the chill as it ran down the back of his throat. Sitting back, he observed the scene in the bar. A middle-aged couple were having a row, the drunk old man cuffing his girlfriend as she tried to persuade him to go home. A young guy, probably no more than late teens, stared at the older man, fury in his eyes, his mind clearly considering whether to intervene. A couple of young girls were at another table beyond the far end of the bar, leaning forwards to each other, laughing and gossiping. Another man lazily tossed darts at the board the other side of the room, hitting the outside of the bull for 25, a seven, and a treble-sixteen. Daniel sighed, and poured more of the ice-cold beer down his throat. The sudden chill made him shiver involuntarily, and finishing the pint with all due speed that he could manage, he got up, and left by the side door.
Walking onto the main road, he stared in the early evening light, as a flash new coupe with halogen lights zipped past, the new-fangled blueness of the lights stinging Daniel's eyes. He frowned, and walked on up the road, hands in pockets, head tilted at the floor. At the bus-stop, he looked up at the electronic display. Five minutes until the bus. Reaching around his pockets, he found papers, and a pouch of rolling tobacco. His hands shook slightly as he placed a small amount of tobacco along the paper, rolled it up, licking along the strip, and putting it in the corner of his mouth, lit the bitter morsel. Spiralling coils of smoke drifted up, and Daniel watched, vacantly yet charmed by the patterns in the air. Ahead of time, the bus veered into sight, and Daniel grumpily discarded his cigarette, and hailed it. You could never trust the electronic display, it only offered hope to fools, or comfort to harried mothers, children hanging from every coat-tail.
Mounting the bus, Daniel ascended to the upper saloon, and took a seat in the front window, scanning the horizon with disinterested eyes. The bus ran down the road, took a left, then a right, underneath the fly-over, and then headed for his destination. From the window at some traffic lights, Daniel caught sight of a young girl sitting on a child's rocking-car slot-machine, a study in bored teenage cool, her kohl-smeared eyes gazing out malevolently from an angelic visage, her tousled hair cascading in ringlets over her shoulders and white vest-top. Two long, jeans-clad legs draped languorously over the toy bonnet. She was waiting for something, anything to happen...she was not expecting much. Daniel felt an immediate empathy with the girl, though clearly she was far too young, and realising this, he ashamedly averted his gaze. The bus drove on. After a while of travelling down long, faceless boulevards, street lights flickering on in the dusk, Daniel noted his stop, and left the bus. Immediately, it began to rain. Cursing, he carried on his way.
Looking around, he headed into the little second-hand shop, to say hello to his friend Albert. As he closed the door, a buzzer sounded, alerting the staff to his arrival. A woman looked up from behind the desk - it was Justine, Albert's pretty young wife, whom he had met while living in France in the first year of the new millennium. "Hi Daniel!" she said, smiling at him. Daniel grunted ungraciously in response. Justine was stunning, a tall, glamorous woman with long, straight dark hair, almost black, and an archetypal French poise, her slender body always immaculately dressed, her pert breasts standing proud, her buttocks equally fine, good enough to eat dinner off. He wanted Justine, wanted her badly, but he had not taken Albert up on his offer to travel to France together. "Things could have been very different" Daniel thought to himself morosely, then out loud, he asked "Is Albert around?" Justine giggled. "I'm sorry, Daniel! He's popped out for a few hours. Would you like to stay and chat in the meantime?" Daniel considered this for a moment. Perhaps he could charm Justine, and talk her into an illicit shag in the back room? Then shaking his head, he realised that wasn't going to happen, and besides, Albert was a good friend. He shouldn't do that to a good friend. "Some other time maybe," he replied to Justine, and leaving the shop, he sighed and wandered on towards another nearby pub, with window-boxes and white-washed walls.
Entering this bar, Daniel ordered a small bottle of whisky, and a jug of water. Mixing both in his glass, he spent the next few hours pondering on life, raising the glass occasionally to his lips, as his thoughts grew more muddled and more desperate, searching within himself for answers which would not come. Drunkenly, he rose from the stool, and walked out onto the street, tossing a note at the landlord, and telling him to keep whatever change there was. Calmly, deliberately, he walked until he came to the main shopping street, and silently he sat down on the pavement. Nobody remarked this, and so for further effect, he lay down perfectly flat, staring up at the night sky, the stars hidden from his view by a haze of light pollution. People walked past, most neglecting to look at him, some even stepped over his prone body. A passing dog licked his cheek, and he blinked, but did not move or push the dog away. Its owner shouted to it, and it bounded off, carefree. Daniel’s head span, and then within a few more minutes, he fell fast asleep.
Waking in the morning, Daniel took a few seconds to realise where he was, and what had happened. Some passing student had kindly urinated on his prone body, and the stench of stale piss rose from him. Sobriety did not cure him of his ennui. Rolling onto his back, he continued to stare up at the unforgiving skies, and his eyes lost their focus as all around grew silent to him. People were making their way to work now, dark silhouettes in business suits passing to and fro. Some now began to stop around him, and slowly a crowd grew. Staring down from above, one kindly man spoke out from the crowd. “Are you alright?” A murmuring chorus echoed the sentiment. Daniel lay there silently. He had cried for attention: now he just wanted to be left alone. “What’s wrong with you?” another voice called, strident and judgemental. “Can we help you somehow?” - a woman’s voice, caring and concerned. Daniel did not move, except to say: “No! Leave me alone!” he hated his voice at that moment, reedy and weak, and filled with a self-pity that fuelled self-loathing. “Won’t you tell us what’s wrong?” The first man spoke again, stretching out a hand in kindness. Daniel resisted the urge to bite into it. Croaking, almost in tears, he simply said: “Please! Just fuck off!” Taken aback, a number of the closer crowd stepped back. One man tutted, and shaking his head, walked on. No sympathy was wanted – and so none was given. “Why are you lying down there?” someone asked, genuinely curious, and surprised by the novelty. “Some idiot, just wants attention!” said the man next to him. “I don’t!” Daniel protested. “Please, just leave me here!”
This couldn’t last. Surely the Police would come, try to move him on. If this went on much longer, he would be taken to a cell, or maybe to a psychiatrist. These thoughts went through Daniel’s head, but they were swallowed up or drowned in a chasm of nothingness. “If you don’t help us, we can’t help you,” said another woman, sanctimonious and prim. Daniel glowered on the inside, but said nothing. He would happily have her drowned, he thought, simple-minded cow. “Is it some kind of protest?” said a girl, a bespectacled young art student. Daniel rolled his eyes. “Come on geezer! Get out the way!” grinned a labourer, who tried to take his arm and drag him to his feet. Daniel jerked his arm away, and spat at the man, who shrugged, and walked off, calling back “Sod yer then!” Daniel mentally added another note to his hit list. Waste of human life. Eventually the crowds all dispersed, hurrying on to their places of work. One remained, a kindly old gentleman, who crouched down next to him. “Why not tell me what’s wrong, son?” he declared, a strange and potent warmth in his voice. Daniel turned his head to stare at him. Somehow, without declaring it, he realised that the old man understood him. “Alright,” Daniel spoke, his voice feeling detached from the rest of his aching, exhausted body. “Alright. I’ll tell you then…”
TO BE CONTINUED…?
[1,678]
Theme: Technology
Genre: Drama, if anything. Dystopian.
Rating: 15
Feedback: Welcome, public.
Warnings: Some foul language, some sexual references.
Notes: Inspired by Sartre's "The Age of Reason", and the video for Radiohead's "Just." Views expressed are not necessarily the author's own, and any similarity of characters to real people whether living or dead is entirely co-incidental.
Daniel sat on the bed, staring at the mostly-full box of condoms on his shelf. It sat there glowing with its bright colours, mocking him, reminding him that his time was running out, the 'use by' date showing how long it was since he last had sex. He didn't care. An odious piece of technology, he thought, snorting loudly. Which idiot thought it was a good idea to have to put a plastic bag on your cock every time you wanted to get intimate anyway? Getting up, he put on a long coat, and walked into the street, the dull grey skies reflecting his mood, the tangled wires of the telegraph poles buzzing lightly like a swarm of malevolent hornets.
Daniel crossed the street to his local pub, entered the door, and walked up to the bar. A long row of non-descript lagers lined the worktop. One new lager stood out - filtered with ice for extra chill. Catching the barman's eye, Daniel ordered a pint, and taking it, walked slowly to his usual table in the corner. Huddling down, he observed the bubbles rising languorously to the top of the glass, and slowly he took a sip, closing his eyes and savouring the sour taste of the beer, and the chill as it ran down the back of his throat. Sitting back, he observed the scene in the bar. A middle-aged couple were having a row, the drunk old man cuffing his girlfriend as she tried to persuade him to go home. A young guy, probably no more than late teens, stared at the older man, fury in his eyes, his mind clearly considering whether to intervene. A couple of young girls were at another table beyond the far end of the bar, leaning forwards to each other, laughing and gossiping. Another man lazily tossed darts at the board the other side of the room, hitting the outside of the bull for 25, a seven, and a treble-sixteen. Daniel sighed, and poured more of the ice-cold beer down his throat. The sudden chill made him shiver involuntarily, and finishing the pint with all due speed that he could manage, he got up, and left by the side door.
Walking onto the main road, he stared in the early evening light, as a flash new coupe with halogen lights zipped past, the new-fangled blueness of the lights stinging Daniel's eyes. He frowned, and walked on up the road, hands in pockets, head tilted at the floor. At the bus-stop, he looked up at the electronic display. Five minutes until the bus. Reaching around his pockets, he found papers, and a pouch of rolling tobacco. His hands shook slightly as he placed a small amount of tobacco along the paper, rolled it up, licking along the strip, and putting it in the corner of his mouth, lit the bitter morsel. Spiralling coils of smoke drifted up, and Daniel watched, vacantly yet charmed by the patterns in the air. Ahead of time, the bus veered into sight, and Daniel grumpily discarded his cigarette, and hailed it. You could never trust the electronic display, it only offered hope to fools, or comfort to harried mothers, children hanging from every coat-tail.
Mounting the bus, Daniel ascended to the upper saloon, and took a seat in the front window, scanning the horizon with disinterested eyes. The bus ran down the road, took a left, then a right, underneath the fly-over, and then headed for his destination. From the window at some traffic lights, Daniel caught sight of a young girl sitting on a child's rocking-car slot-machine, a study in bored teenage cool, her kohl-smeared eyes gazing out malevolently from an angelic visage, her tousled hair cascading in ringlets over her shoulders and white vest-top. Two long, jeans-clad legs draped languorously over the toy bonnet. She was waiting for something, anything to happen...she was not expecting much. Daniel felt an immediate empathy with the girl, though clearly she was far too young, and realising this, he ashamedly averted his gaze. The bus drove on. After a while of travelling down long, faceless boulevards, street lights flickering on in the dusk, Daniel noted his stop, and left the bus. Immediately, it began to rain. Cursing, he carried on his way.
Looking around, he headed into the little second-hand shop, to say hello to his friend Albert. As he closed the door, a buzzer sounded, alerting the staff to his arrival. A woman looked up from behind the desk - it was Justine, Albert's pretty young wife, whom he had met while living in France in the first year of the new millennium. "Hi Daniel!" she said, smiling at him. Daniel grunted ungraciously in response. Justine was stunning, a tall, glamorous woman with long, straight dark hair, almost black, and an archetypal French poise, her slender body always immaculately dressed, her pert breasts standing proud, her buttocks equally fine, good enough to eat dinner off. He wanted Justine, wanted her badly, but he had not taken Albert up on his offer to travel to France together. "Things could have been very different" Daniel thought to himself morosely, then out loud, he asked "Is Albert around?" Justine giggled. "I'm sorry, Daniel! He's popped out for a few hours. Would you like to stay and chat in the meantime?" Daniel considered this for a moment. Perhaps he could charm Justine, and talk her into an illicit shag in the back room? Then shaking his head, he realised that wasn't going to happen, and besides, Albert was a good friend. He shouldn't do that to a good friend. "Some other time maybe," he replied to Justine, and leaving the shop, he sighed and wandered on towards another nearby pub, with window-boxes and white-washed walls.
Entering this bar, Daniel ordered a small bottle of whisky, and a jug of water. Mixing both in his glass, he spent the next few hours pondering on life, raising the glass occasionally to his lips, as his thoughts grew more muddled and more desperate, searching within himself for answers which would not come. Drunkenly, he rose from the stool, and walked out onto the street, tossing a note at the landlord, and telling him to keep whatever change there was. Calmly, deliberately, he walked until he came to the main shopping street, and silently he sat down on the pavement. Nobody remarked this, and so for further effect, he lay down perfectly flat, staring up at the night sky, the stars hidden from his view by a haze of light pollution. People walked past, most neglecting to look at him, some even stepped over his prone body. A passing dog licked his cheek, and he blinked, but did not move or push the dog away. Its owner shouted to it, and it bounded off, carefree. Daniel’s head span, and then within a few more minutes, he fell fast asleep.
Waking in the morning, Daniel took a few seconds to realise where he was, and what had happened. Some passing student had kindly urinated on his prone body, and the stench of stale piss rose from him. Sobriety did not cure him of his ennui. Rolling onto his back, he continued to stare up at the unforgiving skies, and his eyes lost their focus as all around grew silent to him. People were making their way to work now, dark silhouettes in business suits passing to and fro. Some now began to stop around him, and slowly a crowd grew. Staring down from above, one kindly man spoke out from the crowd. “Are you alright?” A murmuring chorus echoed the sentiment. Daniel lay there silently. He had cried for attention: now he just wanted to be left alone. “What’s wrong with you?” another voice called, strident and judgemental. “Can we help you somehow?” - a woman’s voice, caring and concerned. Daniel did not move, except to say: “No! Leave me alone!” he hated his voice at that moment, reedy and weak, and filled with a self-pity that fuelled self-loathing. “Won’t you tell us what’s wrong?” The first man spoke again, stretching out a hand in kindness. Daniel resisted the urge to bite into it. Croaking, almost in tears, he simply said: “Please! Just fuck off!” Taken aback, a number of the closer crowd stepped back. One man tutted, and shaking his head, walked on. No sympathy was wanted – and so none was given. “Why are you lying down there?” someone asked, genuinely curious, and surprised by the novelty. “Some idiot, just wants attention!” said the man next to him. “I don’t!” Daniel protested. “Please, just leave me here!”
This couldn’t last. Surely the Police would come, try to move him on. If this went on much longer, he would be taken to a cell, or maybe to a psychiatrist. These thoughts went through Daniel’s head, but they were swallowed up or drowned in a chasm of nothingness. “If you don’t help us, we can’t help you,” said another woman, sanctimonious and prim. Daniel glowered on the inside, but said nothing. He would happily have her drowned, he thought, simple-minded cow. “Is it some kind of protest?” said a girl, a bespectacled young art student. Daniel rolled his eyes. “Come on geezer! Get out the way!” grinned a labourer, who tried to take his arm and drag him to his feet. Daniel jerked his arm away, and spat at the man, who shrugged, and walked off, calling back “Sod yer then!” Daniel mentally added another note to his hit list. Waste of human life. Eventually the crowds all dispersed, hurrying on to their places of work. One remained, a kindly old gentleman, who crouched down next to him. “Why not tell me what’s wrong, son?” he declared, a strange and potent warmth in his voice. Daniel turned his head to stare at him. Somehow, without declaring it, he realised that the old man understood him. “Alright,” Daniel spoke, his voice feeling detached from the rest of his aching, exhausted body. “Alright. I’ll tell you then…”
TO BE CONTINUED…?
[1,678]
An enjoyable but slightly moving read
