Furnace
Ex-Bluelighter
I felt like a god when I pulled that trigger. On the 30th floor, there lay my boss, Mr. Sallory, dead. Five .38 bullets lay in his body. His overweight body slumped over his leather chair. Leather handcrafted from those who torture lower live forms like cows. Now, I could have it if I wanted. Hell, I could have a million of them strewed out upon the streets of the city. Then, naturally, I did. Panic ensued in the streets below.
“Today, I change my life.” I said to myself, looking out the window.
But there was a part of me that wanted to stay until someone entered the room to see what I had done. I thought about Chastity. Then, out of nowhere, she burst into the room. I looked at her, and she looked confused, then she told me that she was sorry for giving me the sweater. I smiled at her and thanked her for freeing me. She seemed upset.
It started like any other day. I woke up late and headed to work.
I wanted more out of life, but I felt stuck in this day-in-day-out mundane limbo-esque existence. While riding the subway, a young woman came and sat next to me and introduced herself. I was listening to The Jam; “A town called Malice”. I wear headphones so I don’t have to deal with situations like this. Meeting strangers, that is.
“Hi there, I’m Chastity, you might if I sit here?”
I was taken back. Who introduces themselves to strangers, especially on the subway? She seemed nice, but what attracted me to her were her full-red lips. It was as if someone substituted raw silk for her lips. Red, lush, full silky lips. When she smiled, her teeth shone so brightly that I could not look directly at them.
“Hi, I’m Raymond, Go ahead sit down. Do you have enough space? I can move over a little.”
What was I doing? Being sarcastic or being accommodating? I don’t even know this woman. I couldn’t stop staring at her lips. It was like being hypnotized. There was a freak, realizing he was probably making her feel uncomfortable.
“Are you happy?” Chastity said as she looked me in the eye, and placed a hand on my leg.
What kind of question is that? Are you happy? I mean, REALLY!
Then, out of nowhere, I opened up.
“If I told you that I was, would you believe me?”
It looked like I was about to open a part of my life to a total stranger, but it seemed to me that I wasn’t. Chastity, even though I just met her, felt like an old friend. It felt like she was someone who had been watching over me for my entire life, throughout the good things, and the evil things.
“Not with that frown on your face. Perhaps you need a change.”
I was intrigued, some would say dumbfounded.
“What kind of change?”
Sure, I loathed my job with that second-rate newspaper, but it was work. It didn’t make me happy. It paid the bills. I realized that paying the bills doesn’t make the world a better place for one’s self, if there were one thing I could change it would be my boss, Mr. Sallory. If an asshole had its own asshole, Mr. Sallory would be the shit that came out of that asshole’s asshole.
He treated me like I was trash, and I was sick of it years ago, but I haven’t done anything about it, and wasn’t about to begin to. I’m just an ingrown hair on the big Capitalist running dog.
“How do you expect me to change? I work at The Post as a copy editor. I hate my boss whose office and ego are about the size of my apartment. No one there knows that my job crushes my soul, daily, except for him. What can you do?”
She leaned over to me, close. Her lips brushed my ear. It was heavenly sinful. “This. Consider it your freedom.”
I had my eyes closed replaying the whisper over and over again. I thought about kissing her, pulling her close, feeling her close to me.
While I played out my repressed sexual fantasies upon an image of a near stranger, she placed a Big Brown Bag from Macy’s in my lap. I don’t know how long it was there before I noticed, but when I did, she was gone. It contained a navy blue sweater. It was made of very soft wool. It looked so comfortable; I was compelled to put it on. As soon as I popped my head through the neck, I felt like everything bad was gone, vanished. My head cleared of all those overplayed thoughts that plague my brain. All my angst transformed. To what? I’m not sure, but it was better than before.
Tried to find Chastity on the train, but she was nowhere to be found. It was so odd. Here I was wearing a sweater given to me by a girl who had disappeared. The train didn’t stop at anytime. She just vanished. And now I was left wearing this wonderful, beautiful sweater. Sitting back down, I thought about what Chastity said about how this sweater was my freedom. Then I noticed some graffiti on the seat where she had sat.
"The power of God bestowed upon man is like a gun, and your life is like handing that gun to a 12-year-old."
Wearing that sweater, power surged through my body and mind. I felt like I was on top of the world. But I also felt hungry. I thought to myself,
“I wish I could’ve made a sandwich for lunch.”
Then, out of the blue, a brown lunch bag appeared on my lap.
“HOLY SHIT!” I shouted.
The people on the train didn’t pay any attention. You wanna know 2 rules of subway travel? Don’t pay attention to anyone else and yes that smell is urine.
To open up a bag that appeared by your command, and to see a salami-on-sunflower-rye sandwich wrapped in plastic may drive a normal man insane. But I could believe it. I thought about the sandwich, and it appeared. Perhaps Chastity was right. Maybe my life is changing for the better. It has to be this sweater. There’s no other logical explanation…unless I’m some godly creature that just realized his true nature. But that would just be plain wacky.
I got off the train, and make it to the surface to walk those three blocks to my 60-story office building. It’s a giant eyesore. A bully, casting his shadow as he attacks you from behind. My office is on the 30th floor. I’m stuck in the gullet of that bully, unable to get away. Held back by concrete and steel.
That’s what my general thought of my building is. Today, there is a different feeling. It’s time for a sneak attack.
Beggars and street people usually stop me on my way to the office. Sometimes I give them money, but I know in my heart that they aren’t using that money for food, but booze or crack.
I felt a hand on my sweater.
“Excuse me, sir, can you spare a couple of dollars for some food?”
I looked down, and it was a beggar. I looked at his cracked and split lips, which shows evidence of crack usage.
“Now, I have a sandwich and I have $5. Which would you want the most?” Time to take back a part of me. I hate these picky beggars, now I get to play with their heads.
“Oh, the $5, sir! That $5 bill would do me just fine!” The beggar seemed very cheerful; perhaps he thought he was going to get some cash for some crack rocks.
“But you just said that you wanted money to buy some food. Now I present you with a perfectly good sandwich, but now you want the money?” He wants to get high again I know it.
“But, the $5 would help me out more than that fucking sandwich would!” He’s getting angry now. It’s not wise to piss off beggars. They have nothing to live for. They can become desperate at a moment’s notice.
“Give me the money!” He rushed towards me; something shiny was in his hand, a switchblade.
I panicked. A song played on my headphones, “Happiness is a warm gun” by The Beatles.
Next thing I know there’s a dead man in front of me, twitching, while a gun smoked in my hand.
“Holy fuck, I just killed someone.”
But, wait. I was being attacked. He was going to kill me. What was I supposed to do? Wait a minute, I didn’t hear a gun go off. What was going on?!
It was the sweater. I was convinced. It gave me a sense of worth. “Money” by Pink Floyd started playing, and all of the sudden; my pockets filled up with $100 bills.
I screamed out, “I AM A GOD!”
I threw up wads and wads of money into the air. A crowd of people surrounded me and I smiled. I was creating the happiness that I could not have in my life. Then I had a thought. An evil thought. More so than any thought I ever had. I was going to kill the one person that deserves to feel the wrath of my vengeance, the man who has pushed me around for years, my beloved boss, Mr. Sallory.
I entered the bully, and said hello to the security officer behind the desk. He was ignorant to what my goal was this morning. No need to make sure all the columns had proper spelling. The less anyone knows about this, the better.
As the elevator door opened to the middle of the bully, I walked out and “Break On Through” by the Doors started. I smiled, and turned to Sallory’s office.
I towards the secretary, and made myself invisible to her. To test it out, I picked up a stapler on her desk, and she flipped out as she saw it being thrown down the hallway. I smirked at her ignorance.
Opening the door to Sallory’s office, I heard the voice I had grown to loath over the years.
“Yah, tell that son of a bitch that he’s fired. I DON’T CARE IF HIS WIFE AND KIDS HAVE CANCER! (The man who he’s talking about is Thomas Martyn. Him and his family moved to a cheap part of the suburbs 5 years ago. Now they all have cancer. How? Powerlines.) THAT SLACKER HAD BETTER BE CLEARED OUT BY THE END OF THE DAY OR HIS RECTUM WILL HAVE AN APOINTMENT WITH MY FOOT!”
And with that cold heartless comment forever burned in my mind, I pulled out that .38 mm pistol, and shot that fucker in the back.
(apologies to Chuck)
------------------
Still post-rockin' in a free world
“Today, I change my life.” I said to myself, looking out the window.
But there was a part of me that wanted to stay until someone entered the room to see what I had done. I thought about Chastity. Then, out of nowhere, she burst into the room. I looked at her, and she looked confused, then she told me that she was sorry for giving me the sweater. I smiled at her and thanked her for freeing me. She seemed upset.
It started like any other day. I woke up late and headed to work.
I wanted more out of life, but I felt stuck in this day-in-day-out mundane limbo-esque existence. While riding the subway, a young woman came and sat next to me and introduced herself. I was listening to The Jam; “A town called Malice”. I wear headphones so I don’t have to deal with situations like this. Meeting strangers, that is.
“Hi there, I’m Chastity, you might if I sit here?”
I was taken back. Who introduces themselves to strangers, especially on the subway? She seemed nice, but what attracted me to her were her full-red lips. It was as if someone substituted raw silk for her lips. Red, lush, full silky lips. When she smiled, her teeth shone so brightly that I could not look directly at them.
“Hi, I’m Raymond, Go ahead sit down. Do you have enough space? I can move over a little.”
What was I doing? Being sarcastic or being accommodating? I don’t even know this woman. I couldn’t stop staring at her lips. It was like being hypnotized. There was a freak, realizing he was probably making her feel uncomfortable.
“Are you happy?” Chastity said as she looked me in the eye, and placed a hand on my leg.
What kind of question is that? Are you happy? I mean, REALLY!
Then, out of nowhere, I opened up.
“If I told you that I was, would you believe me?”
It looked like I was about to open a part of my life to a total stranger, but it seemed to me that I wasn’t. Chastity, even though I just met her, felt like an old friend. It felt like she was someone who had been watching over me for my entire life, throughout the good things, and the evil things.
“Not with that frown on your face. Perhaps you need a change.”
I was intrigued, some would say dumbfounded.
“What kind of change?”
Sure, I loathed my job with that second-rate newspaper, but it was work. It didn’t make me happy. It paid the bills. I realized that paying the bills doesn’t make the world a better place for one’s self, if there were one thing I could change it would be my boss, Mr. Sallory. If an asshole had its own asshole, Mr. Sallory would be the shit that came out of that asshole’s asshole.
He treated me like I was trash, and I was sick of it years ago, but I haven’t done anything about it, and wasn’t about to begin to. I’m just an ingrown hair on the big Capitalist running dog.
“How do you expect me to change? I work at The Post as a copy editor. I hate my boss whose office and ego are about the size of my apartment. No one there knows that my job crushes my soul, daily, except for him. What can you do?”
She leaned over to me, close. Her lips brushed my ear. It was heavenly sinful. “This. Consider it your freedom.”
I had my eyes closed replaying the whisper over and over again. I thought about kissing her, pulling her close, feeling her close to me.
While I played out my repressed sexual fantasies upon an image of a near stranger, she placed a Big Brown Bag from Macy’s in my lap. I don’t know how long it was there before I noticed, but when I did, she was gone. It contained a navy blue sweater. It was made of very soft wool. It looked so comfortable; I was compelled to put it on. As soon as I popped my head through the neck, I felt like everything bad was gone, vanished. My head cleared of all those overplayed thoughts that plague my brain. All my angst transformed. To what? I’m not sure, but it was better than before.
Tried to find Chastity on the train, but she was nowhere to be found. It was so odd. Here I was wearing a sweater given to me by a girl who had disappeared. The train didn’t stop at anytime. She just vanished. And now I was left wearing this wonderful, beautiful sweater. Sitting back down, I thought about what Chastity said about how this sweater was my freedom. Then I noticed some graffiti on the seat where she had sat.
"The power of God bestowed upon man is like a gun, and your life is like handing that gun to a 12-year-old."
Wearing that sweater, power surged through my body and mind. I felt like I was on top of the world. But I also felt hungry. I thought to myself,
“I wish I could’ve made a sandwich for lunch.”
Then, out of the blue, a brown lunch bag appeared on my lap.
“HOLY SHIT!” I shouted.
The people on the train didn’t pay any attention. You wanna know 2 rules of subway travel? Don’t pay attention to anyone else and yes that smell is urine.
To open up a bag that appeared by your command, and to see a salami-on-sunflower-rye sandwich wrapped in plastic may drive a normal man insane. But I could believe it. I thought about the sandwich, and it appeared. Perhaps Chastity was right. Maybe my life is changing for the better. It has to be this sweater. There’s no other logical explanation…unless I’m some godly creature that just realized his true nature. But that would just be plain wacky.
I got off the train, and make it to the surface to walk those three blocks to my 60-story office building. It’s a giant eyesore. A bully, casting his shadow as he attacks you from behind. My office is on the 30th floor. I’m stuck in the gullet of that bully, unable to get away. Held back by concrete and steel.
That’s what my general thought of my building is. Today, there is a different feeling. It’s time for a sneak attack.
Beggars and street people usually stop me on my way to the office. Sometimes I give them money, but I know in my heart that they aren’t using that money for food, but booze or crack.
I felt a hand on my sweater.
“Excuse me, sir, can you spare a couple of dollars for some food?”
I looked down, and it was a beggar. I looked at his cracked and split lips, which shows evidence of crack usage.
“Now, I have a sandwich and I have $5. Which would you want the most?” Time to take back a part of me. I hate these picky beggars, now I get to play with their heads.
“Oh, the $5, sir! That $5 bill would do me just fine!” The beggar seemed very cheerful; perhaps he thought he was going to get some cash for some crack rocks.
“But you just said that you wanted money to buy some food. Now I present you with a perfectly good sandwich, but now you want the money?” He wants to get high again I know it.
“But, the $5 would help me out more than that fucking sandwich would!” He’s getting angry now. It’s not wise to piss off beggars. They have nothing to live for. They can become desperate at a moment’s notice.
“Give me the money!” He rushed towards me; something shiny was in his hand, a switchblade.
I panicked. A song played on my headphones, “Happiness is a warm gun” by The Beatles.
Next thing I know there’s a dead man in front of me, twitching, while a gun smoked in my hand.
“Holy fuck, I just killed someone.”
But, wait. I was being attacked. He was going to kill me. What was I supposed to do? Wait a minute, I didn’t hear a gun go off. What was going on?!
It was the sweater. I was convinced. It gave me a sense of worth. “Money” by Pink Floyd started playing, and all of the sudden; my pockets filled up with $100 bills.
I screamed out, “I AM A GOD!”
I threw up wads and wads of money into the air. A crowd of people surrounded me and I smiled. I was creating the happiness that I could not have in my life. Then I had a thought. An evil thought. More so than any thought I ever had. I was going to kill the one person that deserves to feel the wrath of my vengeance, the man who has pushed me around for years, my beloved boss, Mr. Sallory.
I entered the bully, and said hello to the security officer behind the desk. He was ignorant to what my goal was this morning. No need to make sure all the columns had proper spelling. The less anyone knows about this, the better.
As the elevator door opened to the middle of the bully, I walked out and “Break On Through” by the Doors started. I smiled, and turned to Sallory’s office.
I towards the secretary, and made myself invisible to her. To test it out, I picked up a stapler on her desk, and she flipped out as she saw it being thrown down the hallway. I smirked at her ignorance.
Opening the door to Sallory’s office, I heard the voice I had grown to loath over the years.
“Yah, tell that son of a bitch that he’s fired. I DON’T CARE IF HIS WIFE AND KIDS HAVE CANCER! (The man who he’s talking about is Thomas Martyn. Him and his family moved to a cheap part of the suburbs 5 years ago. Now they all have cancer. How? Powerlines.) THAT SLACKER HAD BETTER BE CLEARED OUT BY THE END OF THE DAY OR HIS RECTUM WILL HAVE AN APOINTMENT WITH MY FOOT!”
And with that cold heartless comment forever burned in my mind, I pulled out that .38 mm pistol, and shot that fucker in the back.
(apologies to Chuck)
------------------
Still post-rockin' in a free world
