Ironspud
Monday, February 11, 2008, 09:07 PM
[This is a start to what may become a full fledged story. Criticism is appreciated and duly noted.]
Faust
I.
Dog earring the page, Hayden put down a slightly singed, but still very readable copy of Doctor Faustus. He pretended to look at the clock, half convincing himself that he didn’t already know what the digital display would tell him. 5:59AM. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the beginning to another day that bothered him. In fact, he could care less about what the day held for him with the exception of a few very specific things. It was the annoying, high pitched whine of the alarm he dreaded. Ever since the burn, normal things had annoyed him. They seemed to be consciously pulling him back in time to a point in his life where things were exceedingly simple, albeit somewhat boring; only in comparison to now, however. His hand hovered over the off button for only a few seconds before it was goaded into action by the newly over-analyzed sound. A quick tap silenced it more effectively than he could have hoped, and as he stood up he stretched in a cat-like fashion, complete with what some might call an odd assortment of noises and gestures. Hayden was a compact man somewhere between the big and brawny type typical a jock and the lean, emaciated, sort of stereotyped kid that wore nothing but black and listened to too much music. At a solid 6’, he didn’t quite fall into the short category either, but it was rare that he actually towered above anyone of their full height. Oddly enough, he could have easily fit as corporate America’s standard worker with little more than a sharp dress shirt and a bland tie. Could have. Before the burn had removed both high school stereotypes and corporate America in a completely apocalyptic flare of fire and brimstone that even Revelation seemed to underestimate, anyway. His hair had always been blond, and for years now he’d worn it long; much to the protest of his superiors and his own secret personal enjoyment. However, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that he kept his hair long for another reason (a reason that just so happened to live a few cells over and possess a rather beautiful set of X chromosomes). Hayden’s eyes were probably the thing he liked the most about himself. They were normally a dark blue, with bits of gold forming a slight band around each pupil. He was also pretty sure that she liked those too.
His morning routine brought to its anti-climatic conclusion, Hayden rinsed his face in the nearby basin and took a moment to look himself in the eyes. Getting old already? his brain teased. I’m not dead yet, am I? His consciousness sharply retorted. Soon enough, though, his attention was drawn to the deceptively simple task of not losing any unnecessary flesh to the straight razor in his right hand. Refusing to spend the time necessary to shave in the last week, his hair was rough and obstinate, and the entire process ran longer than he had expected. A full ten minutes of his precious time were lost to the simple act of removing facial hair. At least she’ll appreciate it he thought wistfully, before once again glancing at the clock. 6:13AM shined back at him in bright orange numbers, glowing ominously in the otherwise pitch dark room. Putting on the rest of his clothes, he reflected that if the burn had done anything for him, it had certainly improved his night vision. Night vision, to him, had always come naturally, but when you were forced to live underground and minimize electricity usage, it seemed to improve dramatically.
Unlike what might be expected for the year 2050, the door did not open with a mechanical hiss. The door did not make too much noise at all, actually, but rather seemed to glide on its set of remarkably ancient hinges. It had been placed and hung well, and it would continue to function long beyond his years; an interesting comment on the brevity of a man’s life. He lived in cell sixty-seven on the third basement level, and she lived only a few doors down in cell sixty-four. Perhaps by a random twist of fate, or divine intervention, he was forced to pass by her room every day on his travel to the station proper. That aside, he was flanked either side by a dimly lit tunnel, left scantily illuminated by long-life, low-energy drain fluorescent bulbs every hundred feet or so. The result of which was the presence of a pale white glow, seemingly sterile and cold with a sense of antiquity that one might find in the cloisters of monastery. In synchronicity with the tunnel, rooms identical to his own continued in both directions. Perhaps, in a different time, the scene might have reminded one of medieval ramparts lit late at night with guards huddling close to the lights. Overall, the entire structure reeked of a medieval air, prompting anyone with a cursory understanding of history to recall images of classic European knights decked in mail and wielding extraordinarily large swords.
Shutting the door softly behind him, Hayden walked down the tunnel to his left. He kept track of the room numbers, walking diligently past rooms sixty-six and sixty-five before almost regrettably and unconsciously coming to rest outside cell sixty four. He had no reason to stop and say hello. No reason whatsoever. No reason aside from a want to see her before he left for the day. Yet for a moment, his logic receded, and he was overcome by indecision. Seemingly rooted outside the door, he stood staring for a full ten seconds. A long, thought-ridden, ten seconds. However, reason (or perhaps intuition as he would later discover), eventually prevailed, leading him to continue his trek down the hallway. He was headed toward a fine stone archway, engraved in Latin to say something he could not understand and likely never would. This didn’t bother him. The next few seconds under that same arch wouldn’t manage to be as carefree.
Mounting the steps to clear the arch, Hayden felt the air pressure in the tunnel drop as a door opened behind him and the nearly inaudible click of a latch intruded on the otherwise complete silence. Hushed voices bounced down the hall, followed by the sound of a kiss that seemed to insinuate a passionate, if hasty, rendezvous of lovers. The meeting was brief though, and no sooner had the sound reached him than the pressure realigned itself to accompany the close of what he presumed was the same door. But instead of silence, another barely detectable sound took the fore. This was a distinct footstep that he knew better than he would like, and of course, it was heading in his general direction. As the footfalls continued to move toward him, Hayden didn’t even bother to look back; he knew who was behind him, and exactly where he had come from. Passing over the threshold, Hayden sighed and allowed himself a mirthless chuckle that only he would hear. ‘I guess it’s lucky I didn’t knock after all.’
Faust
I.
Dog earring the page, Hayden put down a slightly singed, but still very readable copy of Doctor Faustus. He pretended to look at the clock, half convincing himself that he didn’t already know what the digital display would tell him. 5:59AM. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the beginning to another day that bothered him. In fact, he could care less about what the day held for him with the exception of a few very specific things. It was the annoying, high pitched whine of the alarm he dreaded. Ever since the burn, normal things had annoyed him. They seemed to be consciously pulling him back in time to a point in his life where things were exceedingly simple, albeit somewhat boring; only in comparison to now, however. His hand hovered over the off button for only a few seconds before it was goaded into action by the newly over-analyzed sound. A quick tap silenced it more effectively than he could have hoped, and as he stood up he stretched in a cat-like fashion, complete with what some might call an odd assortment of noises and gestures. Hayden was a compact man somewhere between the big and brawny type typical a jock and the lean, emaciated, sort of stereotyped kid that wore nothing but black and listened to too much music. At a solid 6’, he didn’t quite fall into the short category either, but it was rare that he actually towered above anyone of their full height. Oddly enough, he could have easily fit as corporate America’s standard worker with little more than a sharp dress shirt and a bland tie. Could have. Before the burn had removed both high school stereotypes and corporate America in a completely apocalyptic flare of fire and brimstone that even Revelation seemed to underestimate, anyway. His hair had always been blond, and for years now he’d worn it long; much to the protest of his superiors and his own secret personal enjoyment. However, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that he kept his hair long for another reason (a reason that just so happened to live a few cells over and possess a rather beautiful set of X chromosomes). Hayden’s eyes were probably the thing he liked the most about himself. They were normally a dark blue, with bits of gold forming a slight band around each pupil. He was also pretty sure that she liked those too.
His morning routine brought to its anti-climatic conclusion, Hayden rinsed his face in the nearby basin and took a moment to look himself in the eyes. Getting old already? his brain teased. I’m not dead yet, am I? His consciousness sharply retorted. Soon enough, though, his attention was drawn to the deceptively simple task of not losing any unnecessary flesh to the straight razor in his right hand. Refusing to spend the time necessary to shave in the last week, his hair was rough and obstinate, and the entire process ran longer than he had expected. A full ten minutes of his precious time were lost to the simple act of removing facial hair. At least she’ll appreciate it he thought wistfully, before once again glancing at the clock. 6:13AM shined back at him in bright orange numbers, glowing ominously in the otherwise pitch dark room. Putting on the rest of his clothes, he reflected that if the burn had done anything for him, it had certainly improved his night vision. Night vision, to him, had always come naturally, but when you were forced to live underground and minimize electricity usage, it seemed to improve dramatically.
Unlike what might be expected for the year 2050, the door did not open with a mechanical hiss. The door did not make too much noise at all, actually, but rather seemed to glide on its set of remarkably ancient hinges. It had been placed and hung well, and it would continue to function long beyond his years; an interesting comment on the brevity of a man’s life. He lived in cell sixty-seven on the third basement level, and she lived only a few doors down in cell sixty-four. Perhaps by a random twist of fate, or divine intervention, he was forced to pass by her room every day on his travel to the station proper. That aside, he was flanked either side by a dimly lit tunnel, left scantily illuminated by long-life, low-energy drain fluorescent bulbs every hundred feet or so. The result of which was the presence of a pale white glow, seemingly sterile and cold with a sense of antiquity that one might find in the cloisters of monastery. In synchronicity with the tunnel, rooms identical to his own continued in both directions. Perhaps, in a different time, the scene might have reminded one of medieval ramparts lit late at night with guards huddling close to the lights. Overall, the entire structure reeked of a medieval air, prompting anyone with a cursory understanding of history to recall images of classic European knights decked in mail and wielding extraordinarily large swords.
Shutting the door softly behind him, Hayden walked down the tunnel to his left. He kept track of the room numbers, walking diligently past rooms sixty-six and sixty-five before almost regrettably and unconsciously coming to rest outside cell sixty four. He had no reason to stop and say hello. No reason whatsoever. No reason aside from a want to see her before he left for the day. Yet for a moment, his logic receded, and he was overcome by indecision. Seemingly rooted outside the door, he stood staring for a full ten seconds. A long, thought-ridden, ten seconds. However, reason (or perhaps intuition as he would later discover), eventually prevailed, leading him to continue his trek down the hallway. He was headed toward a fine stone archway, engraved in Latin to say something he could not understand and likely never would. This didn’t bother him. The next few seconds under that same arch wouldn’t manage to be as carefree.
Mounting the steps to clear the arch, Hayden felt the air pressure in the tunnel drop as a door opened behind him and the nearly inaudible click of a latch intruded on the otherwise complete silence. Hushed voices bounced down the hall, followed by the sound of a kiss that seemed to insinuate a passionate, if hasty, rendezvous of lovers. The meeting was brief though, and no sooner had the sound reached him than the pressure realigned itself to accompany the close of what he presumed was the same door. But instead of silence, another barely detectable sound took the fore. This was a distinct footstep that he knew better than he would like, and of course, it was heading in his general direction. As the footfalls continued to move toward him, Hayden didn’t even bother to look back; he knew who was behind him, and exactly where he had come from. Passing over the threshold, Hayden sighed and allowed himself a mirthless chuckle that only he would hear. ‘I guess it’s lucky I didn’t knock after all.’