| |
|
The crystal walls fog again. Why? All the
effort he'll put into this question. His feet stride along a metal catwalk,
the kind with the steel crisscrossing mesh that eats bare feet. His feet
stride, and chafe, his mind somewhere else entirely. There are words that
would make you lie there forever, cradled in me. They exist, I'm sure, simply
misplaced, or maybe used by another on another-only a few of those perfect
words are allotted each day.
The pressure subtly changes, but
whether higher or lower he has no idea. The walls are clear. One needs faith
in the mind and motives of Man to live here. A cold blanket creeps across the
desert, and he instinctively looks up for home. It's not there, of course-the
night sky of the far side glares bright but soulless, every celestial body
present but the one he wishes he could see. Chafe your way to my bed,
feet.
She sits, watching a nameless sea of
rocks and dust, feet dangling from another steel catwalk. If one shuns the
pockmarked, gray-skinned outcast, homesickness descends with a vengeance, but
Luna can calm and comfort as well. Living on this barren, lifeless world
quenches some disillusion with people, with civilization. Life in a place
without life is pure. Out here we cannot pretend to belong, cannot pretend to
rule. I was depressed; it didn't count.
Back in his bed, back cradled in me,
with me forever. Her, rolling, twisting the sheets, waking him, shouting
something that deafens him before the rhythmic pattern of words hits his
eardrum. Baffled, he takes a pen out of his pocket protector and starts to
work the physics of this, a lovely smothering blanket of equations enveloping
him. The mahogany clock chimes the hour, and he stops. Where is she? I
don't own a clock. Waking.
Cafeteria. Hi there (I love you).
Something passing between through the breathing, the glances, the movement (I
love you). The words exist which would make you mine, but it appears another
dumb fool has them today. I had a good time, too. Tomorrow? The day after,
then. (I love you!). It didn't count?
Numbers, figures stream through his
mind. He walks, trying to leave them in the humid almost-nature of the
atrium, through the double doors, the cold vacuum. Functions and variables,
equations, derivatives eat him from the inside, a constant gnawing pain in
the place where he assumes his spleen is located (Love, expressed as a
function of x, would certainly be a nice equation to master). Math seems
to enjoy it here: this landscape of dusty, static death, orderly and
tranquil. Not the domain of man.
I didn't want to hurt him. She,
tending to a fern, inhaling heavy, moist air laden with pollen, pheromones,
life. Moving down rows of greens, the soft, fuzzy leaves brushing her bare
shoulders, looking up. He. I don't need this. It was nothing. The look on his
face-a man who comprehends a situation completely, yet is bewildered,
shocked, hurt. It takes people to make an enclosure into a prison-the dome
and I, we have an understanding. Looking downwards, to an outside observer
fascinated by her bare feet. Don't box me in.
I need her I want her she's mine she
wants me we need us in this dreary place, gray and dead.
I love you!
A shout from a catwalk. Not knowing
whether to laugh or cry, she runs.
Gymnasium: a Bauhaus cube, more
glass than steel. The gravity is deceptive. She keeps approaching escape
velocity, it seems, each bound a bit of free, empty-minded bliss, only to be
gently pulled down to her problems below. A crack, somewhere, the romantic
obsidian sky gone. In its place just space, just lonely space.
Her mind settles, the cool air which
follows a hot shower having grounded it heavily. He's sweet, smart-cute too,
in a way, an odd, timeless way, an old man and a child simultaneously. I
personified Luna, befriended her, I thought. Projecting humanity onto a body
entirely devoid of life has its limit, though. Hazy sleep, dreaming,
cradled in the man-baby.
He, brooding, drinking in his
cramped room, austere steel walls. Give up. It's over, you imbecile. The hazy
alcoholic moment of clarity. A crack, somewhere. Pours his drink out, fills
the cup with cool metallic tap water. Sits down at the computer, loses
himself in equations. You gave it your all. Love? Or infatuation? He sleeps
peacefully, a baby's contentment on his face.
Cafeteria. He laughs, noticing her
unconscious mimicry of his motions. I loved you, maybe. I like you, probably.
Walking out, hand in hand. The Earthless sky is a little brighter.
|
|
