When I stop making excuses, I get things done. Who would have thought? It took five minutes to scheme, yet five months to write. Needless to say, I’m a little embarrassed.
I suppose it fitting to publish this on my second year anniversary. Enjoy!
Swirling in weightless suspense handmade, artisan-glazed, fleur-de-lis plates clink underneath its soapy tomb. Foam crackles in protest, as Celeste lunges for the contents of the sink. Slippery enough, the plate slips out of her fingers and reports on the aluminum side. Letting out a long sigh, she wrenches the dish out of the water and rubs it quickly to land it in the rack.
Her eyes dart to the shiny, aluminum plated dishwasher. Sleek with black trim, it murmured silently. Alien blue lights gave out a measured response as to progress on the second, every second, as a dutiful machine should. Its state of the art physique promised a superior job to all but the most fragile of dishes.
Racking the last of the dinnerware, she wipes her hands and proceeds to the living room of her penthouse. The far wall, glass plated ceiling to floor, displays the outline of a vast urban skyline twinkling with warning lights and sparsely lit rooms. Below the traffic made a light murmur which she opens up the patio door to increase its volume. In a matter of seconds she finds herself on the new, sleek, white resin and leather sofa.
It made the room, without question. The polished silver fixtures and carefully shined concrete floor presents a touch of modern elegance and function. The illuminating walls are a nice addition, so she thinks, and was worth every last credit paid to the contractor up town. A reverse waterfall adds soothing ambiance, twinkling upwards to the ceiling.
In the center of the room, a Chromist(TM) displays a newscast from the BBCAI news desk with Emilie, the longest and oldest digital anchor in the data bank. Death and decay, as always, crops up in certain parts of the world. Compliments of the raw processing power at the station, a giant 3D globe gave off a red hue where treaties broke and invasions flare.
Celeste yawns. She is hours away from any front. Why, she would have to actually pack a change of clothes to reach the first hot spot. Some people would try to get a ring side seat for conflicts such as these, but walking to the urban retreat downstairs for a massage is more important. The problems of the world could melt the Earth in front of her.
The last bit of news covers the light tremors of her province. Much of the problems from natural disasters are trivial in the minds of civil and building engineers. It didn’t take much but the cooperation of the brightest minds on the planet. With every new idea comes a new one and present breakthroughs every day.
Turning on the vent, she silences the pedestal and walks to the bedroom. Making a quick sweep around the glass tables, she enters a room as large as the first clad in white. The repelling bed shimmies and she rubs the wall to set the alarms, both clocks and house. A light breeze passes through the windows as she quickly falls asleep.
Swirling mist and muck percolating through silt and rock lies in millenia wait for moments yet unseen. Deep, silent air pockets it natural being within itself and is mute to intention. As the globe shifts, its crust itches. Dots of humanity sit upon scabs of concrete waiting for its freedom like dry skin. Scratching upon the plates that make the shell of the planet, a vapor heads toward destinations unknown. Floating platters unmask the puzzle box trap of Nature’s wrath.
Upon such a time, as fate may have it, all trajectories meet an unfortunate union for certain residents of the world. Achievements of humanity open up a gateway, a unkind conduit, to release its musty anger festering for thousands of years. Slender tentacles of the gaseous octopus unravel and grip the achievements of mankind with great ease as to strip them of their medals. Slinking, slithering, exploiting every flaw, the vile vapor shoots through the solutions of age old problems en route to its final destination.
Celeste’s apartment lays cold and sterile. The morning brought a seemingly uncharacteristic stillness outside her high rise flat. Any inkiling of a problem came with the refusal of the toaster to provide evenly heated bread for breakfast. Stuck ceiling fans bear the brunt of her frustration, and refuse to yield no matter how many demands were given. The maintenance crew needs to be on this straight away. She pays them well enough.
A darkened hallway does not provide security, however the lack of power everywhere gives her little choice. As anticipated, no calls for an elevator compound the problem of reaching the relevant personnel and a blank service terminal becomes the target of profanity. What is left is the emergency stairwell at the end of the floor.
Nearly toppling over more than once on the way down, Celeste finds comfort in the steel railing that stud the passage. If it weren’t for the lantern on her mobile device, she might have found her way into the eager jaws of a grue. Artificial night made for a dizzying adventure, and cries for help seem pointless.
An emergency exit marked the halt of her journey, and only gave to the sharp slam on its release bar. Her short-lived triumph was rewarded with grey tones from the street, almost as if a rainstorm were readying to release a torrent of water. She found the front desk, mostly by luck than navigational accuracy, and hoists herself up. Invisible weights fall on her shoulders as she strains to balance herself.
Slamming the desk, Celeste calls an order for someone, anyone, to deliver an explanation regarding this nightmare. It echoes through the lobby and dies in a matter of seconds. The people responsible for this mess were going to be fired, but not before she burned their ears off.
A moment of trembling and a lunge over the counter seeks the emergency phone. This shock and stress must be too much for her, as eyes droop and make a chore of the easiest tasks. Hoisting the receiver to her ear, she is caressed with five fingers.
Reeling, she trips over the security guard behind her and crashes to the floor. A sharp blow to the head stings enough to make her bark. The heavy eyelids pan the ceiling to catch a glimpse of the lobby light fixture. Dimly twinkling, the chandelier crystals rock softly back and forth before swirling into a pit of darkness.
© 2015 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved