Heaven’s Despair

051111

  The clouds balloon in the air, tumours sprouting sporadically and growing with the oncoming storm. Their dark temperament reverberates through the sky with a flash followed by a low rumble, sending no mixed signals about what is to come. The downpour begins sudden and heavy, no slow build, torrential from the offset. The towers are used to it. The sky bleeds more often than not, weeping on us, for us for days on end. Windows of reinforced glass thrum and vibrate with the fat impacts of every drop. It’s an angry world we live in now, the peace of yesteryear – or as close as we ever came to such an impossible state of being – mere memories. Lessons taught in class to our children. History.

  I shake my head and then place it in my waiting palms, massaging my temples and praying for some sort of enlightenment. Alex is asleep on his desk opposite, though I’m not sure he knows it. He’s erect in his chair, his hands on his keyboard and mouse, his head awkwardly titled back toward the ceiling as if he too were willing some higher power to bless us with a solution. The chances are slim. A thousand scientists in a hundred stations and we’ve still come up with nothing, the lot of us holding our dicks in our hands and hoping the other guys fix the world. Fuck it – give a million monkeys a typewriter, right?

  That’s about as optimistic as I get these days. Luck or bust. Throwing sheer guesswork at the blackboard and seeing what sticks. Give us another year or ten and I might put more faith in that beautiful bitch science, my divorcee wife, my eroded rock, my safe-deposit box robbed of the trust I once stored there. But we’ve not got ten years. We barely have now.

  We may very well be fucked.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:
To become a screenplay! My very good friend graciously let me take his idea for a spin before we sat down to write this together, so I threw some ideas around to see what works. Love the idea. We’ll see where it goes.

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~ by Joseph Blame on May 11, 2011.

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