Myanmar and China battled it out for the main headline; whose chaos was worse, whose blood spilt thicker, whose lives were worth less? This fractured newspaper had just been delivered when Sam stepped out to begin his day. He didn’t pick it up, New York’s local papers being shit, but took note, as always, of the front page’s tragedies.
“Cyclone”, he said to himself and looked out to the East River, then, returning to the paper, added “Earthquake”.
But it was a beautiful day out. He lit a cigarette before walking to the subway and, as he exhaled slowly, thought: I really need to quit or, “Cancer” he said out loud, making it real. Yes, he could get Cancer, certainly; for three blocks he thought of every body part, every organ which would or could be affected. By the six block it was a collapsed lung, then at the seventh it was Emphysema.
The train arrived as soon as he did, which for some already constitutes a good day. Though it was still crowded, he didn’t have to wait and squeezed right in to the packed L. It breezed off towards Manhattan. Sam found himself pressing up against a young Arab man as the car descended below the water. Actually, a young angry Arab man–although everyone seem angry this early in the morning. But Sam was taking no chances.
“Terrorist attack” he said low, very low, almost a whisper, then added somewhat more loudly, “Or derailment”. He exited the train at the first stop, choosing to walk the rest of the way instead.
Another newspaper
greeted
him on
the other end:
Our economy
is in the
shitter, didn’t you know?Another newspaper greeted him on the other end: Our economy is in the shitter, didn’t you know?
“Starvation?” He asked the sky. Yeah, it was a long shot, but it could happen. He moved on through the crowded streets. According to most math, one of them, one of the people in the crowd, would die today. “Mugging, stabbing” he wondered aloud, rubbing up against the rich and the poor, the white and black, the satisfied and the desperate.
His office was a tall building, at least by downtown standards. Anyway, tall enough to fly a plane into it, maybe? But why? It wasn’t an obvious target for any terrorist.
“That’s the point,” Sam said as he stood outside, “It’s a surprise attack on a unlikely, unsuspecting, building.” But it had only one elevator and only one set of stairs, only one way out and he was on the second-to-top floor. He would be killed, certainly, no use even trying to plan ahead.
The elevator was crowded as usual and the slow, old, cranky thing crept upwards jolting occasionally which dispersed the stale air in new and different directions.
“Well, if it doesn’t drop” he whispered to himself, restating every morning’s constant fear, “There’s no end of diseases in this thing.”
But he didn’t get any diseases. And the thing didn’t fall. At least not today, he thought, arriving at his final destination, this part of the battle being won. He was safe at his desk, well, after he drew the cover down over the window, banishing the New York sunlight.
Have you considered Subscribing to all of this madness?
Here, in the beginning was the word. And the word said 'here' and here he was. He knew not why he was here (do any of us?), but he was here and there was nothing else here, only darkness--though lacking even the quantity called 'darkness'. And though there was not yet loneliness, terror, or cold; the being found himself terribly lonely and cold. Before the being could utter a magic word or a command, light raised up to the sky and illumination seeped onto the earth causing the being to smile for a moment, but then again he found himself crying because the light had only further lit up and revealed the full extent of nothingness.
The old men of the village had their eyes firmly focused on politics again. And the economy. And property values. And sports. But not their wives; their wives were safe at home now--safe and unlooked on. The candlelit dinners and music, the awkward dancing and even more awkward reading of poetry had stopped when the young men left. No need for it anymore. Yes, the old leaders of the village no longer had to watch their spouses like hawks--even though they sat at home all day, bored. So, though there was a war going on, the elders were all noticeably calmer than during peacetime and the council meeting had a relaxed air to it.
"Liberty Univer..." Mark stopped. It was the first time either of them had said that, the word "kill". Madison Square was completely dark now except for a few people at the enclosed dog-run. 
Kyle thought as he went for a better arrangement of the list. His structure still seemed off and taking it out of alphabetical order hadn't fixed the problem. He scribbled down on his notepad again: Homosexuals, blacks, Aisans, lesbians...
Both the young teenager and the old officer were terribly embarrassed as the Police cruiser careened through some of Wilson's earliest paved roads. 
There was nothing that crazy about the nickname; Americans are a practical, simple, right-to-the-point kind of people: And quite simply, practically, that's what it was good at. Well, of course, planes are, first and foremost, good at flying, but this one was particularly well suited for killing Arabs. It was untraceable on radar, could effectively dodge either a bullet or a missile--while it's own projectiles were effectively unstoppable, and so precise that, according to one Army pilot, they could take out a towelhead without disrupting a hair on his goat's ass (his words, not mine). This was the fear of God, or Allah, or whatever.
Summer in the city. The grid is lit up like a dirty grill, hot and red, caking on the filth and the remnants of last night's meat. It's the weekend, but who cares, we have places to go, the atoms say, stretching apart, thrown together, brushing up against eachother's agendas. A week ago, a crane fell and killed two and we stood on the cool breezy street, talking and complaining to absolute strangers, calling for Mike's resignation, for action, for bureaucratic blood. Now the papers report that a crane operator had been bribed and, so long as the AC works, let's bribe him some more and move, move, keep moving, the city is swell, though it feels like hell.