Tag Archives: blog

Theorist

They laughed when he tried to tell them. Every single one of them. Every single time.

He felt a slight sense of guilt but this was offset by the fact that he knew he had done everything he could.

It was going to be hard to convince them, this much he had known from the start. After he figured out the code and had cracked the message, he knew he had to try. Whether they chose to believe him was up to them. They had chosen not to.

So why feel this guilt?

Looking back on it all, maybe he could have been a little more composed and presented the information in a more organized fashion. Less frantic. Less manic.

A shower and a haircut and a fresh set of clothes would probably have helped his case too.

Looking back on it, this much made sense now. So maybe there was a reason for this guilt?

Bringing the huge 4 foot by 4 foot piece of paper with all of the dots connected with bits of colored yard and newspaper clippings with highlighted text that showed the pattern of the code was probably a bad idea.

After all, he knew how to create a powerpoint presentation. So why hadn’t he done that?

Sitting in his bunker 10 feet below ground, listening to the explosions above and feeling the ground shake and knowing that it would take at least 20 years for the radiation to subside, he felt a sense of loss for everything and everybody.

He was not laughing and he did not feel a sense of pride or a desire to boast. Who would he boast to? What did he have to be proud about? Why would he laugh?

He had tried to tell them. All of them. And they had laughed. That was their choice.

So why this sense of guilt?

Wriggle

It was dark and confined and time was becoming more than a pressing issue.

There was very little room to move, inches on all sides, though it might be possible.

The box was old wood and weathered but he shook and shimmied the weak spots were exposed.

There were two questions, really. Was there enough time to break down a weak spot in the box by shaking? And even if a side did come loose, would he be able to climb through the six feet of dirt above him or would it all come crushing down and suffocate him?

Minister

They sat in a way so that they were niether close nor far away from one another. This particular distance was common, in his experience.

“How are you today, my son?”

“I’m alright, you know.”

While he would try to look at this man that he had come to visit in the eye, it was hard at times and both he and the man often looked at the wall, the floor, the tiny table, rather than look at each other.

“Could you eat?”

“I tried, but you know.”

“I know.”

This type of converstaion was also typical, in his experience. Most people might think that there would be more pleading, barganing, a sense of unfairness, or a desperate plea for comfort. This was not the case, in his experience.

Some, though by no means all, would like to play a game of some kind or talk about a book they were reading or they might tell jokes or funny stories from their childhoods. Just to pass the time.

This man just sat and that was his wish and his right. He held his head not quite down but not quite upright either. His hands fidgeted and his feet shuffled.

“Will you be there?”

“If you want me to be, yes. I will.”

“I do.”

“I will be there, my son.”

An alarm buzzed and a door opened and then closed and an alarm buzzed again.

“Would you like me to administer your last rites?”

“You know I don’t believe in that shit.”

Another alarm buzzed and the cell door opened.

“It’s time,” the guard said.