“Man is to become God-like through a life of virtue and the cultivation of the spirit through scientific knowledge, practice and bodily discipline.” —Egyptian Book of the Dead
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It's hard to decide which is better; the feeling of pealing your gear off at the end of the day, or knowing you wont have to put it back on for two days.
Jack slowly flexed his fingers after stowing his long welder's gloves. He made sure they hung so the shop fans would dry the sweat out of them by Monday. After a perfunctory glance around his work space, he decided everything was close enough to ship shape. It wouldn't have passed any real inspection from his Navy days, but on a Friday, after a twelve hour shift, he just couldn't be bothered. He grabbed his cooler and thermos from their customary places and began the trek to the time clock.
Rough hands grabbing his shoulders startled him from his thoughts as his buddy Chuck gave him an excited shake.
"It's Friday! are you coming to the club with me?..." before Jack could reply, Chuck changed tack, "Oh, right... I'm sure you have some big important plans with that lady of yours." Chuck rolled his eyes dramatically, showing just what he though of being tied down.
Jack shoved his friend off with a laugh, "Yeah man, it's our anniversary, I can't miss that. But you go ahead and enjoy yourself. I'm sure your liver needs the workout." His voice held more than a note of sarcasm.
"Dude!" Chuck exclaimed, "titties and beer! what more could you possibly need?"
Jack's lips twitched in a slightly rueful smile at his friend's juvenile mindset. "You know, I've been wondering how it could possibly be why you've never had a relationship that doesn't begin, and end, with an exchange of currency..." He let his voice trail off and raised an eyebrow with an air of mock curiosity.
Chuck's reply was almost instantaneous, "yeah man, it curates the ambient ambiguity"
Jack stopped walking in pure surprise.
"Ambient ambiguity?" he suppressed a laugh. "Is that the name of your new boy band?"
Chuck didn't miss a beat, "yes, we're very cutting edge, very progressive. I'm sorry we didn't reach out to you, but honestly your mix tape was pretty bad." he paused for a breath and a side eye at his friend, "I don't know if you recorded it next to a dumpster fire filled with cats and velociraptors... but there was definitely something wrong with the audio."
Jack's retort was just as fast and without any hint of sarcasm. "Oh, no, that's just my voice, I thought I'd fit right in with your general sex appeal. Cat-raptors being a specialty of mine."
Chuck looked thoughtful, "I'll need to run it by the guys, but we might be able to have you open for us." he paused, "open the doors that is. And maybe clean up the arena when we're done."
Jack laughed, "Arena? will you be handing out vomit bags upon entry? or just let it mix with all the blood? you know... when everyone's ears start to gush after the first note?"
Chuck was about to come back when Caroline, who had been walking behind them cut in. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you two?"
With zero hesitation, they both replied simultaneously:
"absolute genius"
"oxygen starvation"
Caroline just rolled her eyes at the two friends and jammed her time card in the clock and walked way shaking her head.
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Distant echoes replay as tepid water sluices blood and sweat from her battle scarred face. Echoes of mistakes, mistakes with dire consequence. A right cross that was somehow missed, or a knee she saw coming but couldn't react in time. Half open eyes, under a split brow, gaze unseeing as rivulets of pink water gather into streams and then rivers, before rapidly coursing down her compact frame.
She takes another swallow from the bottle in her hand, to numb the pain, and perhaps wash the taste of blood from her mouth. Not that there was much feeling left. Take enough beatings and a it takes more than a stray elbow to bring any real sensation. "Little Demon" they once called her, now she's just in her own corner of hell. Time takes more from a fighter than a thousand fists. Should have retired, should have taken the escape route when it was offered. That's what she tells herself, berates herself. Take a payoff to throw a fight. But no, she's the 'Little Demon' and the Little Demon would never do such a dishonorable thing. It's funny that honor doesn't pay for medical bills or even a place to sleep. It's less funny that losing doesn't pay for anything at all. At least it pays for whiskey. Usually.
Orange light from a single streetlight casts diffuse patterns on her caramel skin. Showering in the dark before stumbling to her little closet of a bedroom had become her ritual. After turning the water off, she stands for a while, staring at the light, trying to feel the water dripping from her form. With a bone deep sigh, she reaches for her threadbare towl.
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"Good show tonight!" the nameless, faceless, somebody, or nobody, from the house band of nowhere tried to proffer.
The man with the slightly too pretty face, and specifically jaunty angle to his fedora scoffed and said, without looking, "I know." Then ignored the muttered reply, "well fuck you too." He had already forgotten who the man was, or where he was. Well, "forgotten" wasn't quite right, he'd never known at all, and therefore couldn't forget. Some club, some town, always the same, then it was on to the next.
Slumping into the back seat of his rented towncar, he lit a cigarette and lazily let the smoke drain from his nostrils before looking across the car to his manager.
"Couldn't you find someplace with a name next time? I'm wasted on these back alley dumps."
The manager, a slightly more practical man, gazed levelly back and, in a practiced voice replied, "we need to build up your name before we go somewhere with a 'name'." He paused, and with an inward sigh continued, "as great as you may be, nobody has heard of you. Perhaps, a measure of humility before you shut all of the doors and burn all of the bridges."
The musician returned his level gaze with distain before lowering his hat over his eyes and pretending to go to sleep. The manager nodded to the driver and the car eased away from the curb.
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"Ohh, why did I offer to pick up a shift on both a Friday the thirteenth AND a full moon?!" Victoria's lament was met with rueful laughs and commiserating expressions from her fellow nurses.
"The crazies are out in force tonight, that's for sure!"
Victoria and her shift-mates were taking advantage of a brief lull in the chaos to inhale coffee or a few bites of food before the next wave of patients hit the doors. There are those that argue that astrological events, such as a full moon, have no bearing on the human experience.
Those people don't work in health care.
The whole night had been a non-stop disaster, contained only by sheer grit and the unflappable professionalism of Victoria and her compatriots. It was really just another day at the office, only more intense. It's hard to say it was just another day at the office, mostly because once things start going, they don't stop until suddenly the sun is up and you find yourself in your car on the way home. That's how it always seemed to go for Victoria anyway. She did love her work, her calling really. It was just that sometimes she knew there had to be a better way. Yet, despite her constant stream of prayer, it was just the same. Bleeding only stopped with pressure, hearts only restarted with pressure (or electricity), bones were set straight, wrongs set to right, all by effort by her. If a prayer is said, and a nurse does the work, who gets the credit?
Victoria shook herself from her sacrilegious thoughts as the doors bang open and the next customers were wheeled in. The idea of "sacrilege" was something handed down from her parents anyway, but it felt good to make little jabs at her strict upbringing. But there was no time for reflection as she straightened her self and got to work.
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There are dreams, and then there are Dreams. The run of the mill dream isn't something you remember much of, just the subconscious spitting out random gibberish. And then there are those Dreams where everything is so real that it feels like reality. Dreams where you remember them for years and wonder where you had gone, or if you had returned at all.
We all had one of those Dreams tonight. Tonight Humanity Dreams together.
Cataclysm, the Awakened Dream, The End, The Beginning. All of these names that were attached to events later. None really could encapsulate the full weight and effect of that single moment. Like a single, deep, doleful, jubilant, bell rung across the world, and in a breath, everything changed.