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| A 70�S REVOLUTION
By Charles F. Millhouse I met Jesus in purgatory at a smoke filled bar. He was drunk on whisky and playing poker with a one-armed hairy man whom had beaten him with a royal flush. I sat in silence; Jesus bummed a cigarette from me and lit it with a snap of his fingers. �Nice trick,� I told him. �But can you chew gum and walk at the same time?� He wasn�t amused. I reached for his bottle, but he pulled it away. �Get your own,� he told me, pointing at the bar. The dimly lit establishment was crowded and hard to get through. I ordered a bottle of bourbon and paid the bartender with a two-dollar bill I found rolled up in my jeans pocket. As I fought my way back to the table, Jimmy Hendrix stopped me. �Can you tell me where the crapper is?� he asked. I shrugged because I didn�t know, and he walked away scowling. Pouring myself a drink, I watched the Savior get beat yet again by the one-armed man. Jesus, pissed, tossed his cards on the table and took another shot from his bottle. �I�ve been waiting,� he told me. �What took you?� I didn�t have an answer for him. The last thing I could remember was driving my car off the road after leaving the concert in Hoboken. The fact that I was drunk and tripping on some kind of pill Ozzy had given me didn�t even enter my mind. �Sixteen years is a long time to wait,� Jesus said. �It must have been one wrong turn to miss this place.� �I remember standing in a long line,� I told him, �One that didn�t move very quickly.� �We�ve had a rush as of late,� Jesus said. �It doesn�t surprise me in the least.� �I appreciate the concern,� I said, lighting a cigarette. �But I really don�t know what all the fuss is about. I�m dead, what hope is there for me now? I�m just one step away from hell.� �Bullshit,� Jesus said, almost falling off his seat. �Hey, hey. How about a game of five card stud?� he asked shuffling the deck. �No cheating,� I said. �What�s bullshit?� �Going to hell�� he paused dealing the cards between the three of us. �Heaven, hell, it�s all bogus, bedtime stories to frighten children, nothing more.� I picked up my cards and looked them over; they were decorated with girls of the Caribbean and wore next to nothing�well I�m too kind. They were naked. I held a jack of spades, two of diamonds, king of hearts, three of clubs and eight of clubs. Not a good hand, but I was used to being dealt bad hands. Even now I was sure the Messiah himself was cheating me. �So what�s this all for�purgatory I mean, if there isn�t a heaven or a hell, then why this place? I mean it�s kind of redundant�if you know what I mean.� The one-armed hairy man laughed and Jesus gave him a smile. �What�s so funny?� I asked. �He thinks you�re dim-witted,� Jesus told me. �Just like everyone else who has come through here without the slightest idea about how things in the universe really work. �Why don�t you fill me in,� I said, pouring more bourbon into my shot glass. �Look around you,� Jesus said. �Go on�have a good look. You know many of the faces here, don�t you?� I nodded yes, seeing Janice Joplin and Elvis dancing next to the jukebox. I saw Jim Morrison sitting alone at the end of the bar, drunk off his ass and not giving a care...nothing new for him. �They�re not sure they want to leave here,� Jesus said. �They don�t want to give up who they were.� �You mean to tell me we can go back?� I asked. �Oh, yes,� Jesus said. �They all can go back. But the ones you see here chose not to. You see, to go back you have to give up who you were in exchange for your new identity.� I was, at first dumbfounded. Then a revelation fell on me like a ton of bricks. �That�s why the music on earth sucks now,� I said. The one-armed hairy man nodded his head in agreement. �But once you choose, there�s no changing your mind�it�s like a game,� Jesus said. �I�ve never been good at games,� I said. �My sister always beat me at jacks.� �There�s only one rule to this game,� Jesus told me. �There are no rules.� �That�s comforting,� I said. �Can I have time to think about it?� �Time is nothing here,� Jesus said. �But while you decide, have a look at your choices.� �I have �� �Three,� Jesus said, �like a game show.� �As long as I don�t become a pig in a poke,� I told him. �Let�s play.� I was led to three doors in the back of the bar, ironically each were numbered 1, 2 and 3. I stood before them waiting for Monty Hall to come out and offer me two hundred dollars instead of picking a door, but Jesus had other ideas. �Behind each door is a life,� he said. �You pick one and you go back to earth. Simple, don�t you think?� �Do I have a choice or do I just pick one�like pot luck?� I asked. Jesus |
| Approximate Value
By Charles F Millhouse Summer has come, but the sun�s bright rays cannot be seen by the naked eye, only felt through the dark haze of pollution that hangs over the terran soil. City landscapes that tower upward disappear into the atmosphere�s muck. The population, on high-risk days, are required to wear a breathing apparatus so they can survive outside. Those unfortunate not to own such protective gear are forced to take their chances as best they can. The average life span of a street dweller is thirty-two years. With so many people living on the streets the world population is extremely low. Transportation by foot is mandatory; no unauthorized machine transpiration is allowed except for government officials who use streetcars for their own leisure. The walkways are patrolled by the black-coats and system files, which line each block checking walkers and street dwellers for violations against the central register. For safety, many on the move turn to the church which maintains and houses those in need of sanctuary. The strong brick stretchers still show a sign of strength, the Central register blasphemes them for their intention to defy the law, but oddly enough the church isn�t thought much as a threat and for the most part is left alone by the black-robes and the taxation squads. Church doors are never closed to those in search of redemption, or looking for a reply to a pending question for God. The church also is a place for hiding. The twenty-ninth street mission is one such place, its hollow halls and dark rooms are quiet and still for those in need of answers. �Killian?� Jason whispered as he entered the empty room were his friend stood peering out the dirt-covered window to the street below. �Killian�are you okay?� The tall bald man said nothing; he only continued to look out the mud-covered glass. �What are you looking at?� The young man asked as he looked over Killian�s shoulder. �Nothing.� Killian said with a cracked voice. The six foot two inch man stepped back almost backing into Jason who moved to one side to let his friend pass. �There was another Bard killed last night.� Jason told him looking for a response. �That�s three in less then seven days.� Killian mumbled lightly. �What do you plan on doing about it?� The seventeen year old asked waiting for some words of encouragement. �Do you know what I miss?� Jason didn�t respond. �I miss chocolate milk, I would drink gallons of it as a kid, the sweet taste gave me a natural high that can�t be reproduced with mind altering drugs.� Killian went silent for a moment. �Killian, you didn�t answer me. What are you going to do about it?� �I heard you Jason, what makes you think I want to do something about it?� Killian ran the index finger of his left hand across an empty shelf, smearing the dust between his finger and thumb. �They tell the story about your brave action Killian, they are spreading the word of revolution.� �Still your tongue boy, the system files are everywhere.� Killian quickly looked out the window again for black-robes, who never came. �You�re afraid.� �Your damn right I�m afraid, I go to sleep at night wondering if I�ll wake up. You should too. I wish I would have never told you about what I did.� Jason tossed his hands in the air with disgrace. �I�m glad you told me,� he said. �What you did needs to be told, it needs to be expressed in every form imaginable, what you have done is a great thing.� �Have I? I�ve killed three men, three storytellers who would still be alive. If it weren�t for me they would have no stories to tell.� �But then one girl would be dead,� Jason reminded him. You�ve made a difference.� Jason�s words are shouted out forcefully as Killian insists he lower his voice. �The child might have been better off if I left her to the system files.� �You don�t mean that.� Jason said to Killian�s answer. �I don�t want to be part of any movement, or any revolution you or anyone else is cooking up. I want to be left alone.� Jason was silent as he looked at Killian who said nothing more. In disgrace the boy turned completely around to face the door in which he entered. Taking two steps towards it he stopped, not looking back at his friend. �They say that a champion has come to set us free. I thought it might have been you. But I see I was wrong,� now Jason did look back. �I believed in you.� �Believe in yourself kid, in the end, it is the only person you can trust. There is no way to fight the system son, if there were it would have happened along time ago.� Jason didn�t reply, he reached for the doorknob and turned it to release the latch, leaving Killian alone. Killian breathed in deep, the smell of rosemary filled his nostrils, and he could hear the footsteps of Jason grow fainter as he walked away from the room. A light tap came at the door a mere seconds before it was pushed open. �Father Michel,� Killian said softly as the white collared man entered the room. �I didn�t know you were out there.� �Because you didn�t hear me approaching.� The dark haired man said as he stood across from Killian. �Were you out there all the time?� Killian asked looking about the room, almost afraid of looking the priest in the eyes. �I�m a light walker. You�were a little harsh on the boy don�t you think.� �Maybe, but he has to understand I�m not this champion that they are looking for. Besides I�ve only known Jason for a short time, he should have better heroes.� �You are his only hero, in that short time he�s grown fond of you.� �Maybe, but he has to understand, the only true hero he needs to be concerned with is himself.� �Perhaps you are right.� The Father steps over to the window and looks out. �Tell me something Killian.� �If I can father.� Killian takes a step up behind Michel. �What do you see when you look out this window?� �I see noting that makes me think what I did will make a difference. There is no hope for society.� Killian turned away from the windowpane. �Do you know what I see?� �What�s that father?� �Hope.� Father Michel says nothing for a time, as Killian chuckles lightly under his breath. �I�m under the impression you don�t like what I see.� �It�s not that Father. I think you are seeing something that isn�t there.� �I differ with your opinion Killian. When I look out this widow I see man beaten and deposed, I see hunger and infection and I see hope.� �Hope in a world of anarchy.� �Men are more than flesh and bone, they are full of promise and fortitude they have survived famine, war and disasters, they built the great pyramids and soared to the moon on wings of hope. They will return from this and when they do they will need a champion to lead them.� �What are you saying?� Killian asked, but father Michel only answered with a gaze. �You�re wrong,� Killian shook his head. �What makes you so sure that you aren�t this champion?� �Because I�m scared.� �All men are scared my son, some just handle fright in different ways.� �Please Michel, I don�t need to be preached at. I saved that girl because she was going to die.� �Where you scared then?� �Damn right I was, but I had no choice.� �We all have a choice, but you decided to risk your very life for someone who could not possibly defend herself. You are a good man.� �Am I? I wonder if I deserve to be called good, Father, I�ve done unpleasant things in my life.� Killian does not look away from the dirt floor that he had been staring at. �Maybe you have, not all men are void of evil, or sin. It�s not how we lived then, but rather how we live now.� The two are silent for a time, Killian watches an ant scurry across the floor and disappear between the cracks, while Father Michel only watches Killian. �I wish there was something I could do to help you in your turmoil my son, all I can offer to you is words of wisdom.� �Father really, I don�t consider myself very religious.� �Killian, to listen to words of wisdom one does not have to be religious, but wise.� Michel smiles at Killian who looks up from the floor and returns the smile. �The good man,� The priest begins to say. �Brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For out of the overflow of his heart his mouth speaks.� (NIV, Luke 6:45) �Thank you father.� �You will do what is right for you my friend.� Killian looks toward Michel as he exits the room, his thoughts are mixed and confusing, his emotions are divide. Turmoil has settled deep. With his actions he has started a spark that will never be kindled into a blaze; alone he has sent an entire world into a foolhardy spin of hope. What beast of man am I? Killian�s thoughts plague him. Hopes and dreams rest on nothing, mans ambitions are dead and I dare to tamper with what is ordained. If man is to be shepherd by those with supremacy why do I now think I can change a world? Have I that right? Jason kicked trash along the street as he walked. Killian had said some callous things to him, he thought. But despite his words, the boy felt that Killian was the hope for the future. A slight breeze whirled along the street, twisting around Jason whipping trash like a bird in flight, standing there for a time Jason let the wind kick up around him as he imaged himself somewhere else, in the county perhaps or on a deserted island where no one can watch him or tell him where he can go and how long he can stay there. As Jason started to walk along again the day was slowly growing darker. Night was falling and he knew it was time to clear the street. �Halt!� He heard a voice call forcefully behind him. �Turn around.� Jason hesitated for a moment, and then turned. A beam of light shined into his eyes blinding him from seeing who was on the end of it, as if he didn�t know already. �What�s your name boy?� �Jason Mc�� �Your digit name.� �Jason 38745.� Jason told the black-coat, trying to block the light out of his eyes as if he was trying to grab the beam with his hand. �A street dweller,� the black-coat said. �Worthless, but the system files will determine that.� Jason shook; street dwellers never survived the system files. He thought quickly, should he run? He wondered. Only he quickly shook off the desire to run as he heard hydraulic sound of the four-legged robotic monster lumber from an ally and toward him. Jason shook in horror as it stopped within feet of him. �Come here boy.� The black-coat pulled Jason in closer to the machine that stood patiently waiting for someone to kill. �Your eye will be scanned boy, from that the system files will search you out and determine your usefulness.� Jason was pushed forward toward a tube that extended out of the machine about eight inches. A small laser beam held his eyelid open as another white beam crossed over his eyeball. There came a slight hum from the hulking mechanism, followed by some clicking noises that gave Jason shivers while still being held firmly against the tube by the black-coat. The boy swallowed hard when a mechanical voice began to call out Jason�s net worth. �Jason 38754,� The machine said in a cold voice. �Male; age sixteen, height five foot three inches, hair blonde eyes blue, street dweller.� Then the voice stopped and the grip on Jason was lighten and he was able to stand free. The contraption began to speak again after a few more clicks and hums. �Net worth not applicable the words were damning, Jason waited for a second until he looked over to the black-coat. �Can I go?� Jason�s voice fracture as he forced out his words. He waited but no answer came. He asked again in case the black-coat didn�t hear him, but his words trailed off when he heard footfalls of more black-coats coming near, a smartly dressed man accompanied them. It was a taxation master, the eyes and ears of the taxation squad who in turn works for the central register; Jason knew this was not a benefit for him. The group stopped near the system file taking up a well-postured stance. The nattily dressed man took a step away from the black-coats and looked at the boy. �Street rat,� he wined, talking through his noise with a sickly tone. �You understand what you have done?� Jason said nothing he only looked at the man with a great deal of trepidation. �I spoke to you boy, do you talk?� The dark dressed man asked waiting for an answer. Jason noticed a twitch under the man�s left eye as his forehead begins to turn red, while he waited for Jason to utter a word. �I am growing dreadfully inpatient so I will ask for the last time do you know what you have been stopped for?� Jason knew his time was running out, so he swallowed hard, again, he slowly opened his mouth to say. �No sir.� �You can speak, how nice, how nice indeed.� The nasally man turned away from Jason and looked at the system files, the machine stood quietly as it was spoke to. �Save the body for distribution, use eradicate level three, authorization 2323.� �Wait!� Jason said in a defiance tone. �You said you would tell me what I was stopped for.� No one said a word to him as the machine came to life. The boy had to think of something fast. Then it dawned on him. �I have information.� He shouted. "I know who save the girl a fortnight ago.� The machine rose high above Jason who stepped back in a panic, but was held in place by the black-coat nearest him. �I can take you to the man responsible for the act. Are you listening to me?� But the suited man who seemed not to care turned away from the boy and was escorted away from the ally by the black-coats that had brought him to this dark and decayed place, all that was heard was the footfalls of the group of men and the scream, the scream of the boys demise. Killian finds sleep unwilling to come. His back, aches with pain from the thin cushioned pad on a long peace of board that father Michel called a cot. Tossing from side to side the older man feels his age, as the night grows shorter and any hope of sleeping disappears. Sitting up and hanging his legs over the side, he rubs the tiredness from his eyes. Damn it, he thinks as he stands from the cot. I�m never going to sleep well unless I�m home. Killian runs some water into a sink that is mounted to a nearby wall and splashes the cold liquid onto his face. Bracing his hands against the white bowl he holds his head low. This is ridiculous I should go home. If the central register wanted me they would have had me by now. Standing erect and running his wet hand over his bald head Killian decides to return to bed and in the morning go home. �Not so fast.� Killian turns to find a knife pointed at his throat, a short man with mussed black hair and a graying beard stood only inches away. Killian�s first thought was the black-robes had finally found him, but this would be assassin looked nothing like a black-coat and his eyes showed he wasn�t use to treating anyone. �What�s this all about?� Killian whispered lightly so not to disturb or arouse his attacker. �Jason.� The attacker said his hand shook as he spoke. �What about Jason?� Killian asked wondering if he should step back but then remembered the sink was directly behind him. �He�s dead and you killed him.� �What do you mean dead?� Killian had only just seen Jason a short time ago, how could he be dead? He wondered. �That�s right dead, the black-coats found him out on the street, those who saw him die said there was no reason for it.� �Now you want to kill me for it?� �He looked up to you, he told the others he would come and talk to you, make you see that you needed to join us that you needed to lead us.� �The movement?� Killian saw it all coming together. �But you told him other wise, you made him believe that there was no hope and you weren�t the champion we all looked for.� �I told him�� �I know what you told him!� The attacker said in a loud whisper. �There is no way to fight the system son; you said. You took his hopes and tossed them away, how dare you do that to a boy, how dare you tell him that there is no hope for society.� The knife moved closer to Killian�s throat. �You said that life just wasn�t worth living anymore and Jason believed in you, but he wasn�t the only one, street dwellers and mine workers and children and hell even those in the rich communities were looking for you to lead them, but you crushed our hopes like a used sheet of paper and tossed it over your shoulder.� �What do you want me to do?� Killian knew this would end in a fight, he was only watching for his moment to act, if he could only catch him off guard. �I don�t want you to do a thing, just stand there and be the leader we need, you see, if you are dead we have a martyr to our cause and perhaps we can begin to take back the streets and take back our lives.� �This is insane, you don�t know what you�re doing.� �I know what I�m doing and so do you.� The attacker pulled back the knife to thrust it forward, Killian dove forward to catch the hand of the assassin. The two-struggled Killian is much taller and is able to push the man to the floor. �Let me go.� The assailant said trying with extreme vigor to fight back. �You don�t understand, I�m not alone, if I fail there will be others.� Killian said noting he only continued to be force the man down, if there would be others then Killian would deal with them too. Getting his arm swung back Killian was able to punch the man quit harshly knocking him out, standing over the man Killian gasps for air. �Damn it.� He said continuing to gasp for a breath. �In God�s name what is happening here?� Father Michel asked as he stood in the doorway. �He tried to�to kill me.� Killian�s hand ached from the punch. �Jason is dead,� he continued. �I know my son,� Michel told him sadly. Killian moved to the hard cot where he had been laying, holding his hand which still hurt. Killian looked at the man for a moment then looked at Michel. �Have you�you been standing there all the time?� �Like I said, I�m a light walker.� Michel said with a devilish smile. Killian felt as if he had been slapped in the face. �He said something to me,� Killian looked to the man lying on the floor. �Something that didn�t make much since until now.� �What was that my son?� The father took a step into the dark room. �He told me what I had said to Jason, that there is no way to fight the system.� �Is that what you told him? Michel asked looking down at the subdued man. �Yes, but something else he said struck me with a queer feeling,� Killian looked at Michel who said nothing, but was watching Killian from the corner of his eye. �He said I told him there is no hope for society�but I didn�t tell him that, I told you that Michel.� �Oh dear.� Michel said taping his shoe against the restrained attacker. �It is so hard to get someone to do your dirty work for you.� �Why father?� Killian said with his head looking down at his bare feet. �You just weren�t going to go for it, I can always tell you see. We need you Killian, there are people out there that is wanting, hoping to be lead from all of the filth, all this degradation.� �Will killing me give you all of this?� Killian stands, looking down at Michel as the priest stoops down next to the attacker. �If you�re dead you�ll still have a voice.� �You will be no doubt be providing the dialog,� Killian pointed out. �I don�t want to be their leader, I don�t want the responsibility.� �Damn you Michel.� Killian heads toward the doorway, stopping as Michel gives him an ultimatum. �You can�t leave Killian.� �Just watch me,� Killian stops just short of the exit when he hears the sound of a guns hammer being pulled back; he freezes in his footsteps waiting. �Are you going to shoot me father?� �I have no other choice son, it�s the only action left to me.� �We all have a choice father, didn�t you tell me that?� �I did, but I�m traveling down an avenue that gives me no choice.� Killian turns slowly toward Michel. The light from the rooms� window casts a blur across Killian�s face. I�m going to walk out of here father and I�m going home and try and forget this ever happened. If you feel you want to shoot me, then shoot me, but I don�t think you have the guts like your friend here,� Killian pointed slightly towards the fallen man who still lays motionless on the floor. Taking in a deep breath and swallowing hard Killian steps toward the door. �I�m sorry Killian,� Michel says taking a deep breath and squeeze back on the trigger. �I�m sorry too,� Killian begins to step forward only to dive for cover just outside the doorway as Father Michel makes good his promise to shoot. The Bullet went wild, crossing between the walls and then lodging into the ceiling above Killian. Killian looks back toward father Michel then down the hall that ran connecting the room to a flight of stairs. Sirens, Killian could hear them in the distance, pushing himself up and running toward the stairway with Father Michel fast behind him. At the bottom of the stairs Killian turns back to look at Michel who is half way down the stairs himself. �Listen to that Michel, black-coat alarms, they heard your shot, they�ll be here any moment.� �All the better if you die by their hands Killian.� �Then you�ll be caught as well.� Killian tried to use some psychology on the priest. �My life is a small price to pay for the survival of the movement.� �You�re mad.� �Maybe, but one thing is for sure, soon we�ll be dead.� Damn, Killian had no other choice but to make a break for it. Bolting toward the door father Michel fires a volley of shots all near misses, but none close enough to stop Killian from escaping from the church to the street. �You won�t make it Killian!� Michel yelled firing again into the night. �Hold!� The cold call of a malicious voice ordered father Michel to lower his gun. Michel stood still holding the gun pointed out, continuing to look into the night. Again the black-robe called for the father to lower his weapon, but Michel blotted the commands out. �Oh lord,� Michel whispered. �Give me the strength to walk the path I have chosen, let me find wisdom in your word and honor in mine.� �I will not tell you again. Drop the gun priest do you understand me? �I understand.� Michel said as he lowered the gun to his side, then letting it fall to the damp street below. He stands motionless as he hears the black-robes drawing close. �Come along priest.� The firm grip from the black-robe on Michel�s left arm turns him toward the opposite direction, leading father Michel away. Killian�s heart felt as if it were going to beat out of his chest, the pain in his lungs felt like they are going to collapse under the pressure from his full tilt running, but Killian had no intention of stopping until he was out of the city. Wishful thinking he reminded himself as he ran in the darkness not stopping to get his bearings. A foolhardy thing to do, he also reminded himself as he fell face forward to the feet of a troop of black-coats just waiting for him with open arms. Pain can be excruciating, it can be bitter and it can be annoying. Killian felt these things, but above all the emotions he felt a source of pleasure, a quiet bliss that reminded him that he was not dead, but bitterly alive. Forcing his eyes open, Killian seen a floor below him as he is dragged along it by black-coats tugging at his arms. The flooring was sheer black; his reflection could be slightly seen with the poor lighting in the building where he had been taken. �Drop him there.� Killian heard the voice of a man standing only several feet away. The black of his boots gave the same sort of reflection to Killian�s face as the floor had. �Can he stand?� Killian thought quickly as he heard the voice, the Taxation squad. He hoped he was wrong, and then when there came no verbal answer Killian felt himself being jerked to his feet by the guards who had pulled him in. �Let me see his face.� Killian�s eyes still looked to the floor and could feel his baldhead being forced back. �So the champion has come.� The sun glassed man said with a half-cocked smile on his face. �Still he looks docile doesn�t he? Release him.� Killian felt his legs buckle as the black-coats turned loose from him, but he was able to remain standing. Taking a quick look about he sizes up the room. The walls were filled with paintings; some Killian recognized others he had never seen before. In the center of the room sat a �U� shaped desk that seemed to mesh into the floor and was the shear black color, the same as the flooring. �You can leave us,� the sun glassed man snaps his fingers at the black-coats. �But stay outside the doors until I give you leave.� The black-coats who had been silent the entire time, turned and leaved the same way they had entered, not giving voice to any concerns they may have leaving Killian behind. �Good, now we are free to talk to one another without the mussel to stand in our way. Besides Killian 26655 I dare say you don�t have the fighters look in you?� Killian said nothing he just looked at the man with a faceless expression, no regrets no fear no remorse, just plain striate faced. �I�m called Forbes.� Killian was told. The man then smiled at Killian and assures him he was in no danger, Killian although sore from his ordeal with the black-coats believed Forbes and slightly let down his guard. But Forbes reminded him it may only be for the present time, speaking with a devious smile. Killian saw a red sofa placed neatly against a far wall. Forbes pointed toward the divan when Killian without hesitation made the sofa cushion his own. Forbes smiled and asked Killian if he would like something to drink, Killian responded in a wanting attitude, �chocolate milk would be nice.� Forbes said nothing more to the arrested guest and made his exit known, reminding Killian of the black-coats just outside the doors. Killian was intrigued at the way he was being treated, but also thought of the fated bull before the slaughter. This made him relax uneasy, the softness on his back and the strange hospitality he was receiving was an easy depressant to a depressed world. Killian looked about, but remained seated not wanting to alert anyone to his activity. The room was huge, bigger then anything Killian had ever seen. The ceiling was high and was decorated with several hanging lights of crystal and diamonds. This had to be the closest thing to real then anything his fake repressed civilization had to offer. �Over whelming isn�t it?� Killian was shaken at the question, his eyes snapped back to level to see an elderly man confined to a wheel chair and cracking cashews one after another with his bony elongated fingers and popping them into his mouth, while pitching the broken shells on the floor leaving a trail behind him that lead from the door where only moments before Forbes had exited into. �I said it�s a little over whelming isn�t it!� The man spoke louder, confusing Killian into wondering if the man was hard of hearing or if thought he was. �I�ve never seen anything like this before,� Killian spoke in a normal tone. �I don�t think I�ve even read anything about it before.� �So you can read? I�m not surprised, why should I be? Your from the old days when reading was allowed, can�t say that of kids today.� �You seem surprised, it is the law that reading is forbidden and you are the law, aren�t you?� �So I�ve been told.� The man spoke with a cracked voice, as he wheeled himself away from Killian and towards a desk shaped like a horseshoe. �I don�t do much really, the machines do it all now, but without me they couldn�t function.� Killian said nothing; he only listened to the old man. �The system files although capable of distributing order and law they are incapable of random thought without someone telling them where to go, what to do now and so on. Like any computer they are helpless without an operator.� �So you are the law.� �I am the one who has no other choice but to do as I am instructed.� �But who tells-� �Your chocolate milk you wanted.� Forbes interceded the conversation by placing a tray in front of Killian�s face. Killian took the tall glass of milk and took a sip and smiled as it drained down his throat, he smiled and thanked Forbes for the delight then looked over to the old man who nodded towards Forbes. Killian waited for Forbes to take his leave. �He�s keeping you here.� �No one is keeping me here but me. I eat well; they give me plenty of cashews to eat what more can I need.� �But the people in the streets?� �Are in the streets, I can�t beat the order of things and neither can you.� �Then why am I here?� �I wanted you brought here, so the system files and the black-coats do as I say�to an degree.� �But why?� The old man looked at the screens that hung above his desk. �I�m dying.� He said not looking at Killian. �They want a replacement,� now the old man looked down to Killian. �I have chosen you.� �Me? Why?� �You don�t care, you don�t want to be involved and you just want to be left alone. Here you can do all those things and never go hungry, never wondering if you�ll wake up or if you�ll be dead by the time your thirty-five. Look at me, I�m old and you can be too. It�s not that bad really once you get use to it. Forbes isn�t much of a talker but he gives you what ever you want when you want it, food, clean cloths and even a woman now and then.� Killian saw some benefit to all the old man told him, there was a high death rate in the streets and he for sure would be among the dead more sooner then later and he did tell Jason to watch out for only himself, in the end that�s all you can count on. Words to live by, he thought. So, tell me,� the old man asked. �What can convince you? What will make you stay?� �Can I get some more chocolate milk?� Killian asked after gulping down the last drink from the tall glass. |