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- 24, Male
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perfection is a fabrication of a unified sociative collective.
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Level 12 Musician
Ranked as Police Officer
A man looked down onto the paper, dimly lit by no source at all other than itself, it displayed lines of information and the man seemed keen on following it's instructions, as everyone was before. The paper seemed solid yet only for a moment, as when the man took his eyes off of it, the paper folded back into his hand, perfectly into the middle of his palm, with absolutely no visible effort by the man, or the paper, as if the pamphlet was made out of nothing, It was no longer illuminated within it's own mystery when it found itself within the palm.
It defied everything I ever knew about physics
It is a strange thing that we all still have a mailbox, Physical mail was supposed to be phased out years ago with the iteration of e-mail, Even with all the new technology supporting the basic fundamentals of near-instant data transmission that we hold into out hand every day notifying us, vibrating and spouting out tunes from any imaginable era converted onto the digital medium, The physical mailbox still stands there, awaiting something, I have considered it a modern day statue for years, The post office has nationally closed years ago, Yet nobody ever took down their boxes, They were still used as a simple form of final destination of deliveranced documents, Although obsolete and archaic as they seemed, It was still a standing yet functional statue of an old society.
You can easily turn a blind eye to the media, It's true purpose I never thought about, I always flipped through any type of because more often than it seemed welcome was another tragic tail after another, Of course this could be described as another medium of information, Yet it always seemed to be an obvious method to dig deep into our minds to fulfill our darkest needs of death and destruction, Whoever those people might be, I know I am not one of them. It can become the talk of the town when the tails of tragedy spread like wildfire, Even without television and broadcasts to force feed me misfortune, Or the rare social contact with nothing more informative than the same buzzing topic of tragedy, I'll soon enough find the same information in my e-mail, Taunting me with large headlines like the long lost newspapers phased out years ago. It seems moments of peace and tranquility are never spawned in times that deserve them, Yet only after major incidents while everyones hunger for destructive approval has sated that mysterious knawing insanity, Just like in war times the protests begin requesting revenge within destruction, And end pleading for peace. When we feel that final signing of of peace the cycle begins again, It's in human nature although I am somewhat content simply watching mother nature bring on her own destruction to the world, The tolerances of the media medium are ever growing as the gasp factor steadily becomes jaded, It is no longer surprising that this hunger grows exponentialy in each individual, Slowly turning you into a brainwashed zombie sitting in front of anything willing to spew out the drug to sate your appitite. People love this viscious cycle, However for a secluded man willing to keep his sanity I attempt to live a comfortable hermit life, protecting myself away from the machine of mankinds evil.
I went out like any other day to get the usual ten pound stack of junk mail from my wilted mailbox, And originally expected to bring it back in and take a big morning shit like usual, It's always deeply satisfying to wipe with junk mail on a lazy sunday afternoon, The coupons were always out of date and all the sweepstakes were simply scams, Just your normal pile of shit, I just loved to take it one step further. Except that this morning I had just barely stepped out of my front door and I see my old neighbor shambling towards his mailbox, Old Jenkins was an old governmental worker and kept himself almost as secluded as I was, His house was nothing to get excited about and his yard had long needed a good trim, He made his way around and opened up his mailbox and was wonderfully greeted by an impressive display of explosive ordinance, He was blown to bits as soon as he cracked his mailbox door, It was simply loud, bright and as I closed my eyes from temporary fear and disbelief it made a shadowbox of his outline onto my retinas, I may have closed my eyes but I already had the vision burned in as each millisecond of them being open became frames in my adrenaline boosted mind, Running through every bright flash that sent Old Man Jenkins to his airy and bloody grave, I only attempted to remember how it happened right at that moment, Before all the pieces fell from the sky and his blood splattered onto the road and my roof, I turned back to the house and walked inside, My eyes were still shut as was my door followed by the muffled sound I could describe as a gentle rain with a few big fat pieces just as forrest gump would described the rain in vietnam, It was a brief shower and the smell of blood mixed in with explosive residue seeped into my house, The vision that ran across the mind was simply a male silhouette surrounded by a flash, Even when I opened my eyes I could still see the moment Jenkins was obliterated by an almost harmless stack of mail.
It wasn't a terrible sight to have burned onto your retinas, It could have been worse I thought to myself, It wasn't twenty minutes after my morning wake up that I was on a ladder with a waterhose washing off the blood that had stained my roof a red tint, and to be honest I kind of liked that red, I was just pulling Jenkins arm out of the gutter, when I noticed a police cruiser pull up.
Two young men stepped out of the cruiser, One approached my ladder just simply wanting some small talk bullshit, I figured these were some new guys, The force was dwindling down to just remnants made up of mostly reformed troublemakers,, He asked me if I needed a hand when I was trying to reach for jenkin's own on my roof to make out a morbid joke, laughing to himself before wrenching his stomach as the smell whiffed into his nose while the other fellow made his way to the small crater where Jenkins poor old ass exploded and announced proudly that he was definitely dead flinging his arms up into the air, The first officer slowly asked me few questions obviously attempting to keep his donuts down where they belonged and not in my lawn, He asked about the incident and what I might have known about Jenkins when another explosion rang across the air, Both officers took attention and the radio pinged off a code 3-91, It was surprisingly brief of a minor investigation as the cruiser peeled a donut halfway in my yard with sirens wailing away, I waited on that ladder rinsing my roof while watched the sun rise for a few moments more before dragging old man shit off my roof, Jenkins might have been my neighbor But I only saw him when I stepped outside and gather my mail, He would wave and that was it, I looked at his house for a moment and stared at the garage, I wondered to myself what would be in there, But the thought soon faded as I knew the government would eventually be all over Jenkins case, And probably my ass aswell, It was getting near noon and I finally got all his pieces back into his hole, And all the blood off my roof, I didn't bother throwing any dirt on him, I heard a few more explosions throughout the day and I knew that someone had there hands full and I did enough cleaning up.
I was in my usual chair watching the news after a well worked up shit that had been turtleheading for too long followed by a nice shower, I strolled into the living room completely naked as it was entirely my right and sat down in my chair, I reached for my remote but it wasn't long that it had seemed every channel was all over the bombings, There were absolutely no more shows, no cartoons, A few channels were displaying the emergency broadcast, But there was absolutely nothing but reporters outside of houses talking about who, how, what, and when everything went down, I flipped to the local channels which were dissapointingly relaying the same news broadcasts the satellite offered, I gave up and settled on watching a young female reporter with wavy hair and a sweet voice to serenade me my second dose of destruction for the day.
I only gathered a few usefully suspicious pieces of information from the entire 2 hour repeat program, The pipe bombs explosions were among the entire country, All high-ranking government officials were obviously dead and numbered over eight-thousand total and rising, I hadn't even thought about my own mailbox, I hadn't dared once to attempt to search it, even though the door was open because it was cram packed of stuff, I was scared, Yet I got up and made my way out the door completely nude, There was no sense anymore, Jenkins was dead and it was the only house for a few miles, I hesistated for a moment but had to assure myself that I was not working a government job, Just a bunch of junk mail, Which was a great thing because I didn't meet the same fate Jenkins did, and the initial fear of reaching in and pulling out the stack had worked up a hasty shit, And I had all the TP I needed right in my hands.
It wasn't long before a new company came around to take control, or as I liked to think of it as a new government, The bombs had taken out everyone, Nothing had changed for my life personally following the days of the initial mail-box attacks, In fact I had not recieved mail since that day, I visited work and nobody was there, There wasn't anyone anywhere, Everyone was scared and vehicles were a scarce sight to behold, The only bad thing that affected me is that there was only news stations broadcasts on the radio, or the tv, or countless e-mails I couldn't imagine taking the time to delete. If it had a signal or a connection it was news, The new government was called Deshler, The channels changed their look and the layouts had the Deshler logo, And in a single day just overnight everyone recieved a new mailbox across the entire country, Nobody seen them get put in, Nobody knew how they got there, Not even I heard a single peep or truck the night they came, There were no dig marks or even a slight indentation in the grass, They seemed plain, But the material was soft to the touch, There were no markings except a single D on top, no flags, not even wood for the base, Many people attempted to pry the boxes up but everyone always failed to do so, The mounting bases were unimaginably deep, A news broadcast had taken coverage of a large operation, And after 40 ft. of dirt was removed, It was simply given up, Saws and diamond tipped carbide blades did nothing but ruin the machines, It was a strange object, It was just a solid box made out of some imaginary material, The first day nobody had recieved anything, Yet on the news, some states had recieved a mysterious letter, All of the outlying states on the outer edge had recieved a single pamphlet, The videos shown on the news were perplexingly strange, I thought about that mailbox, How strange it was, I couldn't sleep and I watched it that night, I eventually went out and started touching it, trying to figure out what it was, What it was made out of, I spent an hour tugging on it, pouring water on it, trying to dig it up, it was all useless, Just as the news had already proved, I was perplexed and exausted, I made my way back inside dissapointed with an abundance of curiosity and somehow fell asleep.
When I awoke my first thoughts were about the mailbox, And something had definitely happened to the state of it. It looked like it had somehow deteriorated, I stepped outside and I found a small paper waded up inside, Just like the outer states had recieved, when I grabbed it, It felt strange, definitely soft but not very easy to describe, I took it out and looked at it, At that moment it seemed to grow larger and stretch itself out lazily, I couldn't believe my eyes, I couldn't take my eyes off of it until it was completely open, It was as light if not lighter than a feather, It was surprisingly easy to handle, and miraculously thin, I glanced for a moment at a bush behind the paper and it quickly crumbled into my palm, I looked at it in disbelief and it opened back up, This time slightly more quickly, I repeated this continuous experiment until it was almost instantaneus, It somehow was learning my thoughts, Or my vision, I felt like I had chose it, Or it had chose me, For today however, The paper was entirely blank, I tried getting a pencil and marking it with no success, water would come right off and I could not bend it at all unless I wasn't looking at it. As the sky became dark so did the paper, I had no idea what would come in the mail tomorrow, But honestly I slept with that paper and I found it in my hand, crumpled up the next morning. As if that was where it was designed to stay.
I was lucky enough to have been requested to simply ride alone, A list of occupancy had been displayed from my pamplet when I awoke, The news was filled with an abundance of wilted mailboxes and pamphlets, Everyone had recieved one, And they all had certain requests from their owners, To pack people in with strangers and neighbors nearby, With every channel talking about the damn pamphlets, I just turned it off and stared at the pamphlet while relaxing on the back steps of my house, I felt like I was training it, I could glance at it and it would perk to life, But now it had it's first information to give me
: LOC 34°22′28″N 96°25′21″W
: PASSENGER (TYKWA)
The list slowly cycled through its lines seven more times until my eyes couldn't stay open for any longer, convinced it wasn't going to change, And I let it turn into a wad as it found it's spot in my palm, I went inside tonight and noticed the paper began to glow very faintly. But when I looked at it after It had thrust open It had a different message
: TOMORROW DEPORT 4:36:33AM LEFT INTO GRAND LINE
:933 MILES. LINE SPEED 100 MPH
: GOOD LUCK
As I looked towards the setting sun in my backyard I thought about what was going to happen to everyone, It had already seemed that this one piece of paper had changed the world, Every channel had been a battle of broadcasters fighting for top coverage of the pamphlet, The paper, Thel list, But honestly, everyone had one and everyone already knew what information the broadcast expressed. It was all telling us to go to one single place called Deshler, I looked it up on google maps and it appeared to just be a small town in the middle of nowhere, But considering all this weird shit, Who knows what is there now, The search results for Deshler were astounding, and even google had a notice of shutdown for tomorrow, I imagine nobody was free from the notes.
I couldn't stop thinking what it could mean. What could be at Deshler, Were we going to be enslaved by this new and mysterious overlord, I hadn't even seen any sort of representative from Deshler other than the damn mailbox that lays over itself in my front lawn, I found myself becoming more and more tired as I played with the paper that was in my palm, It was a comforting material, And I came to rest easily.
I was behind two vehicles when I pulled up to the merge point, Just two vans packed with people, And I was by myself in an old 1990 Accord, The car was archaic itself with over a million miles, With the vans in front of me sporting rediculous technology and over-engineered designs that required constant maintenance, With not a single vehicle behind me I felt like our envelope of escape was going to be very small, I could see everyone looking at their papers in the vans, some still opened slow, but they all showed the same message, In fact it was just a timer our pamphlets displayed now. It was a short time when I noticed that few hills down a gigantic line of tankers in the left lane and trucks in the right were making their way across the hill, I turned my palm around from the steering wheel and my paper popped open with a timer, My timer neared 14 seconds and the first car merged in front of the line and zoomed off, along with the opposite lane across the street at almost the same time, My timer was at 8 and the next went, Now it was my turn to go, I could see the line coming up and it looked like a literal stampede straight from texas, nothing but a bunch of trucks and fuel tanks, I could only guess they were going to fuel us, Before I could give it any more thought my paper flashed and buzzed slightly before the timer went off, I just gave it the gas and turned as my paper collapsed and tucked itself into my palm, the gas was on the floor as I clutched and shifted gears, Letting out and letting the tires bark, I neared 70 as the menacing onslaught of vehicles bore down on me, Clutch in, 4th gear, As soon as I reached 100 I was within but a few feet of the twin wheeled bullbarred truck behind me, Growling at my tail and taking up my entire rearview mirror, I let myself pull a little ahead before I put the baby in 5th, But I didn't have much room already as I had come over another hill and there were hundreds and hundreds of cars merging, I didn't dare to slow down with the pressure I had behind me bearing down, There were accidents and spinouts, But the line bashed through, I had swapped places with the giant diesel behind me, Luckily enough he might had been a connoisseur of classic engineering marvels but the feeling and knowing that I was surrounded by heavy unforgiving steel to shield me from certain mistimings took an edge off every intersection we passed.
Traffic stayed side by side the entire time, somehow I believe the papers were connected to a mainframe of sorts, People hung off the sides of the tankers as they pulled up beside our vehicles, I hadn't noticed but even the trucks had gasoline tanks in the back, The truck behind me squeezed into a space left by a tanker rushing ahead and positioned himself close to my rear fender, I reached down and popped the tank, A group of small boys climbed out almost recklessly holding onto hoses as they hooked it up to the tank, I tried my best to stay lined up as I didn't even have cruise control, What I managed had been plenty enough, the hoses had plenty of spare length, The gas pumped and my needle worked its way back up, I honked when I noticed gas spilling out and the boys pulled the lines and closed my tank, And scrambled back into the truck.
The refueling was nothing short of amazing, watching people dangle off of the tankers, wearing harnesses throwing hoses into trucks pumping the remaining fuel into the smaller tanks, As we closed in on less than 100 miles to go, The tankers couldn't keep up anymore, The refuelers would jump onto the trucks and one by one they would begin to run dry, The tank drivers fate was a heroic one, Deshler must have expected everyone to have sun powered vehicles, But people were running dry , The stranded we passed slowly grew spread out from the never stopping line, some vehicles were wrecked and bodies were not an uncommon sight. For those who fell too far behind, there was the blackness, As I would call it, It seemed that if progress wasn't being made to Deshler, Or the folks who had been stranded on the road, Their paper would slowly float up in a white light, And the owner would always begin to turn to stone, Not everyones demise was quick, the stone spread like an infection slowly turning each cell, The blackness was far away, Yet the papers kept us somewhat safe, I could feel mine slowly buzzing just hardly noticable, I was concentrated on driving, and my tank was was quite full, the tankers were gone and now it was just a race, I put the pedal down until we entered a shady intersection where the traffic seamlessly merged back into one line at 100 MPH.
An entire news crew in the middle of a highway parked sideways, and all of them were completely turned to stone, microphone still in hand. camera and boom lifted and held, Noone dared to stop or investigate, Everyone that made it this far knew what would happen if we stalled, We stayed at 100 and didn't dare go slower, That was the rule, This single line was hauling at over 130, the sun was getting dimmer, And the darkness was getting closer.
Their were countless rumors abound the radio about the white light and people turning into stone, I had to turn the radio off, One station had ran out of gas while doing a live broadcast and the screams were terrifying, I didn't want to think what would happen If I had ran out of gas and wouldn't make it to Deshler, I knew I would make it, My tank was nearing empty again and I honked at the same truck with the boys pulled near, The driver was yelling something and I got the message that he didnt have much left, We didn't have much to go, He gave me enough for a few ticks on the gas counter and I became content, I stayed on the ass of the truck in front of me, I was going to have to mise all the fuel I could. I turned my palm and my paper popped open, It read:
: 46 MILES
: VIEW UP
I peered out the front windor grinning at whatever strange AI controlled my paper, Maybe it had a personality, But I stopped wondering when everyone else was looking out aswell, And then I saw it, Deshler. I said to myself, this is not human.
Deshler stood unmeasurably tall, I couldn't turn my neck high enough to see the tip, It twisted upwards with floors among floors, there were no windows just the same material the mailbox was made from, It did not sway yet as I continued closer appeared to twist it's architecture, the thoughts of why were overly complicated to comprehend and I disregarded it as complete nonsense, I had a drive to finish and my empty light flashed on.
The result of the drive ended in a mysteriously well organised collection of vehicular chaos, My tank was empty and I found myself rocking my car over the last hill, My paper started buzzing but as I crossed into the edge of the lot it calmed itself again, My heart was racing because at that moment the wall of blackness had just followed out the truck with the boys, Still hauling ass, The wall suddenly stopped and enveloped around the parking area, I looked out and watched as a few vehicles attempted to drive out onto the grass, Only to be followed by white lights as the papers gave up and the stone take over, It didn't take but a few minutes for the entire edge of the lot to become covered in the blackness, I was still quite a ways from the large line and the truck with the boys offered a ride, The lot was large and circular, enough to fit countless vehicles, Yet as it filled up there were still some empty patches, We stopped near the edge as I had to remind the boys father not to drive on the grass, Even though an example sat right in front of us, A woman driver with a small load of screaming girls had white lights float out, And the screams slowly stopped until nothing was left of them but statues and gaping mouths.
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