Jim was encased in darkness. Light only protruded from the ember at the end of his cigarette. The orange glow bounced off of the windows, and hissed as it brushed against the condensation on the beer can. He had come home and flipped the light switch. Normally the switch sent twisted electricity to bulbs. There it rubbed against itself and chased the darkness from the room. No controlled lightening flowed through the wires. He found his beer to be growing warm. A swore escaped his lips as he rummaged for a cooler. With the cooler full of slowly melting ice, he retreated from the safety of his normally cool apartment. Then he passed through the threshold into the humid, sticky, and unpleasant patio. He removed his clothes, only leaving his underwear.
As time passed and the sun retreated beyond the horizon, the lamps never illuminated. Only darkness began spreading from the shadows. Their only enemy, the sun, had gone. As Jim’s occasional cigarette produced an light from an ember, it failed to scare the shadows away. The moon was never introduced that night. He passed the time by sitting in his chair. After work he never read or thought. Just drank and cursed his luck.
These outages were common place during the summer. To escape the climate people produced artificial worlds. Air-conditioning was wonderful! Jim loved the world he had created: his large television and a large recliner with a small fridge at arm’s length. With all of the tiny worlds in the city an enormous amount of energy was needed. While everyone’s worlds were being interrupted by the blackout, they each chose different activities. Jim chose to continue his ritual, while others participated in different activities. Jim could hear his neighbor’s bed banging against the wall through the window. Accompanied by light gasps of pleasure, those light gasps infuriated him. Jim wasn’t mad because someone was enjoying themselves. It was because it interrupted his time to himself.
Cans of beer multiply at Jim’s feet and the ashtray filled. The butts were tarnished brown by the thick smoke. The sweet smell of cigarette smoke had become a constant for his neighbors. As whispers from other porches cascaded into Jim’s world, more cusses muttered passed his lips. Jim had a secret for dealing with invaders: beer.
Jim had learned things recently that had made him a bitter person. The recent discovery of a secret race had been aggravating. They say that this secret group had been influencing and policing humans for millennia. He hated when people controlled him, and hated when people tried to control the way he lived. It was why he had joined the local militia and the members were his only friends. People trusted the government to much and now they trusted this strange group. A myth that had become reality.
They pulled strings. He hated them because they refused to tell the world what they were or why they were here. There was no explanation for anything! While others thought this group of people was good, some naturally distrusted them. There was no such thing as good. If they were good, why didn’t they solve the power issues? If they had controlled everything for ages how did evil still exist? As Jim grabbed his pack of cigarettes, he found no special treats within it. He mumbled some profanity and retreated through the screen door. His underwear was sticking to his body.
As he strut through the oddly organized and clean apartment he stubbed his toe on an invisible object. This time there was no mumbling of a swear word. Rather, he screamed them at the top of the lungs. The curse traveled off a wall, out the screen door, and was heard by all in the vicinity of his home. As Jim bent over massaging his toe, beads of sweat dropped to the floor. These formed a small puddle. Jim immediately groped for his lighter. It was snuggly tucked in the eroding elastic of his waistband. He used the lighter to search for what he had kicked. On the floor was a book which had fallen: thick leather and gold letters appeared, “Constitutional Law”. Jim cursed his profession as he moved through the apartment. With the light from the lighter he watched every place he put his feet.
The shadows retreated from Jim as he walked through his house. He rounded the corner and found himself in front of a dark cabinet. Inside were cans of food and cartons of cigarettes. As he peeled the cardboard from the top of a carton light danced off the cellophane. This light was like a kaleidoscope as it bounced around the room. Eventually the beautiful reflections ceased because Jim pushed the lighter into his underwear’s elastic band. The sides of the cardboard buckled as he thrust his sausage like fingers into the carton. He grabbed one of his precious treats and placed it besides the lighter. He was testing the tolerances of the elastic in his underwear. He retrieved the lighter and continued back to his sanctuary: the porch.
Jim moved with a fevered pitch. The strong desire to inhale the thick white smoke was all his mind could comprehend. It propelled his plump body. His salty blood and broken mind craved nicotine. As he entered the room before his porch a sharp breeze chilled his sweat covered body. He froze at the sudden coolness upon his heated skin.
As Jim relished in this unprecedented pleasure, the shadows began to thin. He looked up and passed his screen door. Shock gripped his heart. The clouds, the ones that covered the moon, were on fire. They were reflecting an immense blaze and Jim’s drunken eyes sobered up. They went from halfcocked and glazed to open and alight with curiosity. He took a step forward. However, this was a miscalculation his foot ended up in the pool of sweat from before.
Then Jim heard the car alarms from blocks away. The noise was growing in magnitude. A blast of wind penetrated the threshold of his world and drove fear through every fiber of his body. He turned to flee but his foot gave way. It slipped from beneath his immense weight. This was a dangerous combination of freshly waxed floors, his weight, and a viscous liquid. The foot had kicked inwards as he spun on the ball of his foot. As he twisted like a dancer the wind pushed upon his half turned body and he began to fall. As this fragile human tumbled in a half turn towards the ground profanity laced his thin lips. And then, the ground greeted his right temple. It was not kind.
That was the day the clouds became fire and Jim stopped cursing.
Jim was encased in darkness. Light only protruded from the ember at the end of his cigarette. The orange glow bounced off of the windows, and hissed as it brushed against the condensation on the beer can. He had come home and flipped the light switch. Normally the switch sent twisted electricity to bulbs. There it rubbed against itself and chased the darkness from the room. No controlled lightening flowed through the wires. He found his beer to be growing warm. A swore escaped his lips as he rummaged for a cooler. With the cooler full of slowly melting ice, he retreated from the safety of his normally cool apartment. Then he passed through the threshold into the humid, sticky, and unpleasant patio. He removed his clothes, only leaving his underwear.
As time passed and the sun retreated beyond the horizon, the lamps never illuminated. Only darkness began spreading from the shadows. Their only enemy, the sun, had gone. As Jim’s occasional cigarette produced an light from an ember, it failed to scare the shadows away. The moon was never introduced that night. He passed the time by sitting in his chair. After work he never read or thought. Just drank and cursed his luck.
These outages were common place during the summer. To escape the climate people produced artificial worlds. Air-conditioning was wonderful! Jim loved the world he had created: his large television and a large recliner with a small fridge at arm’s length. With all of the tiny worlds in the city an enormous amount of energy was needed. While everyone’s worlds were being interrupted by the blackout, they each chose different activities. Jim chose to continue his ritual, while others participated in different activities. Jim could hear his neighbor’s bed banging against the wall through the window. Accompanied by light gasps of pleasure, those light gasps infuriated him. Jim wasn’t mad because someone was enjoying themselves. It was because it interrupted his time to himself.
Cans of beer multiply at Jim’s feet and the ashtray filled. The butts were tarnished brown by the thick smoke. The sweet smell of cigarette smoke had become a constant for his neighbors. As whispers from other porches cascaded into Jim’s world, more cusses muttered passed his lips. Jim had a secret for dealing with invaders: beer.
Jim had learned things recently that had made him a bitter person. The recent discovery of a secret race had been aggravating. They say that this secret group had been influencing and policing humans for millennia. He hated when people controlled him, and hated when people tried to control the way he lived. It was why he had joined the local militia and the members were his only friends. People trusted the government to much and now they trusted this strange group. A myth that had become reality.
They pulled strings. He hated them because they refused to tell the world what they were or why they were here. There was no explanation for anything! While others thought this group of people was good, some naturally distrusted them. There was no such thing as good. If they were good, why didn’t they solve the power issues? If they had controlled everything for ages how did evil still exist? As Jim grabbed his pack of cigarettes, he found no special treats within it. He mumbled some profanity and retreated through the screen door. His underwear was sticking to his body.
As he strut through the oddly organized and clean apartment he stubbed his toe on an invisible object. This time there was no mumbling of a swear word. Rather, he screamed them at the top of the lungs. The curse traveled off a wall, out the screen door, and was heard by all in the vicinity of his home. As Jim bent over massaging his toe, beads of sweat dropped to the floor. These formed a small puddle. Jim immediately groped for his lighter. It was snuggly tucked in the eroding elastic of his waistband. He used the lighter to search for what he had kicked. On the floor was a book which had fallen: thick leather and gold letters appeared, “Constitutional Law”. Jim cursed his profession as he moved through the apartment. With the light from the lighter he watched every place he put his feet.
The shadows retreated from Jim as he walked through his house. He rounded the corner and found himself in front of a dark cabinet. Inside were cans of food and cartons of cigarettes. As he peeled the cardboard from the top of a carton light danced off the cellophane. This light was like a kaleidoscope as it bounced around the room. Eventually the beautiful reflections ceased because Jim pushed the lighter into his underwear’s elastic band. The sides of the cardboard buckled as he thrust his sausage like fingers into the carton. He grabbed one of his precious treats and placed it besides the lighter. He was testing the tolerances of the elastic in his underwear. He retrieved the lighter and continued back to his sanctuary: the porch.
Jim moved with a fevered pitch. The strong desire to inhale the thick white smoke was all his mind could comprehend. It propelled his plump body. His salty blood and broken mind craved nicotine. As he entered the room before his porch a sharp breeze chilled his sweat covered body. He froze at the sudden coolness upon his heated skin.
As Jim relished in this unprecedented pleasure, the shadows began to thin. He looked up and passed his screen door. Shock gripped his heart. The clouds, the ones that covered the moon, were on fire. They were reflecting an immense blaze and Jim’s drunken eyes sobered up. They went from halfcocked and glazed to open and alight with curiosity. He took a step forward. However, this was a miscalculation his foot ended up in the pool of sweat from before.
Then Jim heard the car alarms from blocks away. The noise was growing in magnitude. A blast of wind penetrated the threshold of his world and drove fear through every fiber of his body. He turned to flee but his foot gave way. It slipped from beneath his immense weight. This was a dangerous combination of freshly waxed floors, his weight, and a viscous liquid. The foot had kicked inwards as he spun on the ball of his foot. As he twisted like a dancer the wind pushed upon his half turned body and he began to fall. As this fragile human tumbled in a half turn towards the ground profanity laced his thin lips. And then, the ground greeted his right temple. It was not kind.
That was the day the clouds became fire and Jim stopped cursing.