by: Apocrypha

:::August Rain:::

By: Apocryphia

Discussions doppler away like wind in rain, pittering themselves out over useless timeless bastard things- the weather, local news, what-have-you the state of the union and the new deli pickles, all of it equally worthlessly important in the fog and the haze and the beginnings of an august rain.

Discussions die as people leave this place, take up their cars and their taxis and buses and bicycle-scooters, take up their newspapers and run away like they always do, busy mites-for-men running to and fro like lost puppies, wagging their tails for everyone in hopes that someone will take them home...

Cars move past with snail speed, trailed behind traffic lights and accidents, monkeys on a string- and they laugh and they shout and they curse through the glass, blaring their horns at the oncoming night, thinking it will make a difference. It never does.

The signals shift colors in a pantomime of war and traffic flows the other way; a man crosses during the breach. He is coming for me, all long hair and wet coat and soft sad eyes and a smile like stolen gems, a whisper that walks with the wind and carries over cars and horns, slips between the cracks of other people's conversations in the rain that would freeze around him but steams instead with august he came for me.

He sat down on the bench as a bird takes perch upon state's head, delicate and sharp and somehow domineering without saying a thing; he sat and said nothing, did not even look except to see through cars and people who were not there as they passed away in front of him. He came for me. Signals could not rescue, horns could not prevent- nor newspaper vendors proclaim- the awful fecundity of this professed meeting on this desolate plain- Mea Culpa, he said, confessing everything, admitting nothing, in a voice that knew and didn't care- Mea Culpa, he said, and went away with the air; Mea Culpa in the august rain. meant, something definite and clean and crisp, without me.

the end

Midnight Conversations Of course, it isn't important, this misguided mincing of words, this lost conversation in the endless dark of 2:30 in the morning, in the dead of night. It doesn't mean a thing. But we will think it does; we will say things we will regret without saying a thing and will scar ourselves forever: midnight words will be the death of us. The beverage sloshes in the glass- I can't even remember what it is I'm drinking, I've been through that many- I can't even taste it as it burns its way numbly down- my hands are shaking, though not from the drink. I'm thinking. I'm remembering you. The glass breaks and cuts my fingers, a small inverted repetition of things I said which wounded your heart forever.

The house smells of paint- the roller rests menacingly across the doorway- I'll eat carpet for leaving it there, I know, but I also know I won't get up and move it. White paint. White paint washed over everything, cleansing it of memories, fumigating it of dreams. White paint to cover peach which covered yellow before, paint we put up together and got more in our hair than on the wall and I can see you laughing, hear your smile, the gleam of your teeth and the glimmer of joy in your eyes...what turned that into hate? What turned that into rage?

We shouldn't have. Sat up so late when we were tired, after driving for 42 hours straight, home from a friend's house. We should have gone to bed. Instead we took out the tall glasses and opened up the chardonney and drank until we'd shut off our minds and loosened our tongues just enough to be thoughtless but not enough to apologize. We shouldn't have sat up- all we did was break everything we had, with no more difficulty than breaking glass (which we also had done, that night, and laughed as we mended cuts and picked up shards and wrestled each other to the floor in a heap of smiles and fondness that we thought would last forever...). We shouldn't have sat up. Nights like that live forever, a nightmare which creeps out from under the bed and glares with viscous eyes that make null the unvoiced forgiveness and void the in-the-eyes-only apologies that used to be more than enough to mend broken words. Nights like that live forever and replicate like rabbits. Soon we had no more glasses, and then you took the car.

There was a squealing of tires, and you never came back. You took your things when I was gone, but left me the cat. You didn't leave your key.

I saw you at a cocktail party one time, close to midnight, with a tall glass in your hand. You were talking small things and nonsense with some blond man with a red carnation in his vest, but you weren't looking at him. He was merely a piece for conversation, so you wouldn't look alone. I was doing the same thing, only mine was brunette. And, of course, wearing a dress. I think I saw you first, but you were the first to dare to lock eyes. The room blurred and for a moment I wanted to kiss you. I could tell you wanted me too. But then it was over and you turned away, remembering the things we'd used to say.

I saw you once at an anniversary party for someone we both knew, standing off on the side in the dim talking to the host, drinking a martini. Your hands were shaking. But you didn't drop the glass; you couldn't let me pick up the pieces. Some day I'll catch you at one of these parties, I say to myself, and I'll pull you aside and we'll sit in a corner together with our drinks and talk nothings and dreams and elegies and apologies and mend our broken souls and Band-Aid cut fingers and laugh at tall glasses broken on the floor as we nustle on the couch...but we never will.

The guilt burns us silently too much to tell and we can't speak to each other except the brief hello of strangers or childhood friends grown too far apart to remember each other's names. The stupid things we said hurt too much to forget, never mind forgive. We sit, hands shaking tall glasses with wine sloshing out ever so delicately, on opposite sides of the room, hoping the other will be brave enough to speak: one stupid, meaningless moment ruined our lives- drunken midnight words killed us with defeat. You can clean up broken glass, but with words, you can never pick up all the pieces- you only end up cutting yourself on them later. There's hurt in your eyes but a red carnation in your hair. I smile at the girl sitting next to me. We were always good pretenders. That's why leaving took so long. We shouldn't have, and that's what we both regret.

The End

A hand reaches to the cord that dangles from the apparatus encasing that head, deftly it pushes the plug into the outlet, at the outpouring of information exchange the form shudders slightly and eyelids drift lazily open. The glow of the monitor is the only light that is seen in this darkened room, as pale hands reach for the keyboard and find their place there. Coming to alight upon the familiarly worn keys, they soon begin their dance. Furiously beating out a tattoo insistently sending impulses to course through the intricate web. Rae’s eyes flutter a bit as the speed is increased in order to complete the task at hand. There is a sense of urgency in the small flickers and beeps that can be heard in the room, a smile creeps to Rae’s face as one word is uttered.

Taylor….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MaryAnn weaved her way among the stalls at the market, her basket near to over full with the ripe peaches and plums that were Jeremy’s favorite. She hummed a little as she greeted the other wives that ventured out today. “Morn to ye, Mrs. Swan, ‘tis a nice day for it eh?” and a wave over to another. Her spirits were bright this day as it was a special day. The day of Reclaiming was always a grand day in the mind of the villagers.

MaryAnn’s pace quickened as she moved from the square, soon to arrive next to her mount, she placed her purchases in the saddlebags and mounted. A pause as she looked to the sky, all was as it should be, birds flittering about, the horizon dotted with the thatched roofs of the village. Then her eyes came to rest for a bit on the only building that broke the low horizon, about 3 miles off towards the east was “Monolith” a 100 story high building. “Monolith” was made entirely of glass and steel, and stood out much like a weasel in the chicken coop. The sense of foreboding that washed over MaryAnn as she examined it was enough to send a shudder through her as she turned to ride out to her farm on the outskirts of the village.

As she arrived, Jeremy was waiting to greet her, he swept her down from the horse in his large arms and snuggled her close to him. With a gleeful giggle MaryAnn, wrapped her arms around him. “Ye missed me I see, luv” to which was replied the norm. “Aye, as I miss the air to breathe”. With a kiss, MaryAnn remarked, “Well, then if’n ye hope to breathe more strongly perhaps carrying in the wares is in order”. And with that she grabbed a parcel and headed for their cottage.

The cottage was a quaint thing, made of river stone and thatch; Jeremy had lovingly drug large rocks about in order to build a charming little fence around the cottage. It served no purpose actually, other then to please MaryAnn’s sense of aesthetics. Off to the left was a small stable for the horses, and beyond that the chicken coop. To the right was the largest Weeping Willow one ever could imagine and not far from beneath its branches was the pond. A few duck swam lazily in the pond, the sense of serenity interrupted briefly by the call of the mallard. It was a picture of perfection.

As the groceries were settled, MaryAnn put on a pot to brew some tea. Jeremy found his favorite chair and lounged in it. Soon as they were settled Jeremy turned his eyes to MaryAnn and spoke, his voice low as if at a whisper, “what news hear ye of the Nelson lad?” MaryAnn breathes a heavy sigh as she curls her legs beneath her in order to cuddle down in the chair next to him. Sipping lightly on her tea she slowly shakes her head to the negative. “Nae, ‘tis nae word other then he told his mum on day past last, that he was being called. He packed his pouch and taking their ol’ mule rode off to the east” The shudder, of excitement perhaps, again found its way up MaryAnn’s spine. “Gods Jeremy, ye think we shall be blessed enough to give a child to the Reclaiming?” Her heart aflutter at the possibilities of it all, she smiled brightly to him. “Afore I can answer that me heart, perhaps we need try to make that child, afore we start talking of his callin’ in life eh?” With a deep chuckle, he is out of his chair to scoop her up and carry her off to the bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Beep, Beep, Beep. The repetitive noise brought Rae back to the present. “Time for motion”. Those words uttered softly from parted lips as the canned light illumed a soft smile that was resting on Rae’s face. With a languid stretch the form turned from the machine and unplugging from it rose to move around the room. Long strides took Rae in first a clockwise then a counter-clockwise motion.

“Must not go only one way for boredom is sure to strike.” The deep voice startled Rae. Those large eyes looked towards the one speaking, and Rae recoiled a bit at the imposing figure. “Ca…Can I help you?”

“Tsk, Tsk, Tsk, You have been a very very bad Rae” The man stalked towards Rae, his stark white coat reflecting the colors of the computer screen. The horrid shadows making his face to seem even more full of crags and pock marks then usual. Rae stumbled back against the wall and slowly lowered down it to sit curled up.

Rae’s soft voice, shook with fear, “Pl…please…it was merely a game. We meant no harm, only wished…” the words fell away as Rae looked to the expression on the mans face.

“A GAME…” he raged. “A Game indeed, do you realize what you’re doing here. You are one of the chosen, YOU have been blessed with the reclaiming from that dull mundane world, YOU, my dearest Rae, are like a god to those …those puppets out there. What would their world be without us to run it? They hide from the technology they themselves created. Blind to the fact that underneath there quaint town is a Mecca of robots working to ensure their survival, and yet what is it you dabble at…rather then programming those robots to provide for all??” his voice grew in tenor as he circled his arms in anger, “No, you don’t work to provide, you hook yourself up to that machine and play pretend with your friend Taylor!”

Rae’s mind whirled with those words, how could they know. How could it be true? With a sigh, Rae stood and forced those features placid. Yes that is how they in the white liked them. Placid and pliable. Rae nodded assent and bowed low, “Forgive my ignorance, I shall delete all files and return to work immediately”.

A lecherous smile found purchase upon his features as he gloated at the way Rae cowed to him. Confident he would have no more trouble with this one, he nodded. “See that it is done.” The hulking figure turned and made his way towards the door, and with a quiet hiss, was gone from the room once again.

Rae leapt to action, she dropped into the chair and plugging in again, opened the communications program. Fingers flew across the keyboard as Rae put in the series of alphanumeric's that would allow her to reach Taylor. A small window opened on the left hand corner of the screen.

A over long moment of silence as Rae sat staring at the screen, her fingers trembling in anticipation of the next words. Breath caught in her throat. Her eyes drift to the monitor with the 3d world they had created. There snuggled safely into bed were the figures of MaryAnn and Jeremy. Rae’s heart leapt in her chest to see them safe, sleeping soundly. A small beep made Rae to jump as she received a message back from Taylor. Across the screen two small words flashed.

“NOOOOOOOOOO” the word was torn from Rae’s throat as she turned back to the screen featuring the happy little couple. With a blink and a whir, they were gone. All gone....