What kind of elevator could take this emotional escalator sideways?
Captain Mathias, a
handsome man, in the German Gothic kind of way, made his way down the
treacherous sidewalk, not a danger because of the half melted and re-frozen snow, or because his lack of tear duct emissions, but because he was in a battle -- a
I'd rather have my heart beat fast because of fear...
He'd sworn to himself, (not even having anyone with whom else to
talk) never again to engage in social intercourse, or the other kind,
ever again. He didn't care if his very virile innards would become as
so much incense ash, pheromones: worthless non-essential oils, so to
speak, or smell -- more appropriately. He walked rather carelessly, not
caring if he slipped and hurt his pride or any unneeded body part.
As luck, or maybe it was bad fortune, would have it, he continued his
way down until he veered into an alley.
Here, he saw the true reflection of life, dead rats amongst the
half-chewed remnants of a gluttonous world. Dirt and slime, hurt and
grime, yesterdays' newspapers, (though he thought those were becoming
rare because of everyone's ocular attention to LCD evoked
information), and apparently sleeping human beings -- almost blocked
his way. (He wasn't going to stop to check for pulses.) Nothing was
going to become an impediment he told himself with an unsolved dilemma mixing
arrogance and humility. He'd walked away from the past, but like his
shadow, it followed.
Maybe if I dwell in the darkest places, it can't.
He heard an alley feline caterwauling, the clunk of
tin cans falling from the scare-die cat lunging away from his presence.
He moved out of the narrow through-way before the inevitable sash was
thrown and some hairy goombah started throwing things at Garfield.
The bright neon lights in the laundromat he came around to
momentarily blinded him, but pulling his jaunty cap further down his ruddy face helped. Not able to contain himself, he peered through the
glass noticing in front of the rows of white automatons their human
counterparts, though the hues varied on the latter.
I must not think of times folding clothes with....
"Hey man! What'ch you lookin' at?" He hurried away, crossing the
street, narrowly being sideswiped by a Checker Cab. A luxury he
couldn't indulge in at this time. Self-absorbed martyr, he was, but,
too angry to do anything but just go.
His answer was right in front of him, like destiny, or even Destiny's
Child, he saw his old Admiral, the Master of the Fleet, the one who put
the fleet in, well, anyway he was so excited, that he didn't even see
Saundra running towards him 30 blocks down the boulevard.
"Sir, sir!" He yelled, taking his hands out of his pea coat to
cup them at his mouth for volume. "It's me, your Number One, remember
me, can you hear me, wait...."
Now, running full tilt at what anyone else would consider an
apparition, no regard for the pedestrians he jostled, one of who
gestured and grumbled quite rudely, Mathias lost sight of his old
mentor. He was left with only himself, a tormentor. He did, however,
hear footsteps getting louder his way.
Don't look back!
Saundra, a young woman whose mousy brown hair had been
manipulated by Lady Clairol, and was blessed with looks that would keep
her on the cover of 16, but never make Vogue, was just about out of
breath, defibrillator needed, but she was relentless. She should have
never said 'tie the knot' to an ex-sailor.
What was she thinking?
Mathias wanted only one thing: to get back to her. Back to the one he
truly loved-- He missed the salty taste, the fishy smell, and the
rocking motion of love.