Impending Doom...
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
The teacher's droning, monotonous diatribe reminded Josh of the delightful hum of a box fan on a summer evening. Perfect conditions for sleep. But not now. Today Josh was writing a story. He struggled with the plot for his only inspiration was the overwhelming desire to ignore the instructor. Josh was unaware that he was, in a matter of 48 hours, going to be faced with an examination of his knowledge about topics concerning Advanced Operating Systems that would rock his world. He diligently tapped the characters onto the screen as the monsters of procrastination, neglect, and undisciplined-ness crept out of the shadows of his past and of his mind. There would be a showdown and something or someone was going to get hurt.
As his imagination drifted, Josh's desk became a bus seat and the wall a beautiful countryside. His classmates became passengers and the teacher a washed-up radio program rambling over the bus speakers. He realized he was chained to his seat and to the man next to him as the bus bounced down the gravel road, making the ride much less pleasant than it could be. The man next to him appeared to be of Central Asian descent, most likely Indian. He glanced around the bus noticing that many of the passengers or prisoners seemed to be of the same ethnicity. He wondered if he had somehow been captured to work at some sort of research laboratory camp. But why would they pick him? He hadn't been a diligent student. On the rare occasions that he attended class, he barely paid attention. He definitely didn't feel like a good candidate for such work. The bus came to a sliding halt at an unexpected stop sign and derailed his train of thought. In the silence, he noticed that the program had changed on the radio, though it sounded like more of the same uninteresting garbage. The bus rolled on a few more miles and finally turned into a farm-like complex with several metal buildings and storage structures.
A man in olive drab green fatigues commanded them off the bus which proved to be difficult with chains connecting every other person to the seats. Another man came along to free them from the seat as others pushed and shoved them towards the door. Josh came to the bus door and was shoved down the stairs and onto the dusty ground below. He felt the chain tense up and then slacken as his chained mate came tumbling down on top of him. Both were yanked to their feet by a large, burly man in a robe-like garment. With consideration to his now acutely obvious plight, Josh noticed that the countryside didn't appear to be as beautiful now. Though the sun spilled its brightness between thick, fluffy clouds with brilliance, the ground now appeared scraggly and unkempt. It looked more like a wilderness that symbolized hopeless captivity.
The bus passengers were herded toward one of the various metal structures before them. As they reached it a large, overhead door scrolled up and the prisoners were herded into a room full of tables and chairs and ordered to take a seat. Papers were scattered about the tables. The men in green commanded them to answer the questionnaires before them as pencils were handed out. Josh felt ill-prepared for many of the inquiries on the paper. As he studied the sheet, he vaguely recalled hearing bits and pieces of the information over the bus speakers that he was now being demanded to produce. But it made no sense. Why would they capture him, chain him to some random people, force them onto a bus and out here into this barren wasteland just to demand answers that had been given to them during the miserable trip? One of the green-clad villains snatched the paper from him and snorted at the lack of answers that he had written. Suddenly, he was released from his Indian partner and dragged out of the room. He struggled to kick free but escape appeared impossible.
Outside, he was slammed against the wall and again chained. He now faced a row of half a dozen men holding large stones of various shapes. Before he could protest, one of the men in broken English began scolding him for his poor performance on the questionnaire. Josh now knew that he was coming face to face with his end because he hadn't listened to the sorry excuse for a radio program on the bus. In his peripheral vision, he noticed the other prisoners walking freely away from the complex, unbound. They must have been listening on that bus ride, he thought. He focus was yanked back to the half-dozen men as he felt a rock hit him in the ribs.
His end was not pretty.
As his imagination drifted, Josh's desk became a bus seat and the wall a beautiful countryside. His classmates became passengers and the teacher a washed-up radio program rambling over the bus speakers. He realized he was chained to his seat and to the man next to him as the bus bounced down the gravel road, making the ride much less pleasant than it could be. The man next to him appeared to be of Central Asian descent, most likely Indian. He glanced around the bus noticing that many of the passengers or prisoners seemed to be of the same ethnicity. He wondered if he had somehow been captured to work at some sort of research laboratory camp. But why would they pick him? He hadn't been a diligent student. On the rare occasions that he attended class, he barely paid attention. He definitely didn't feel like a good candidate for such work. The bus came to a sliding halt at an unexpected stop sign and derailed his train of thought. In the silence, he noticed that the program had changed on the radio, though it sounded like more of the same uninteresting garbage. The bus rolled on a few more miles and finally turned into a farm-like complex with several metal buildings and storage structures.
A man in olive drab green fatigues commanded them off the bus which proved to be difficult with chains connecting every other person to the seats. Another man came along to free them from the seat as others pushed and shoved them towards the door. Josh came to the bus door and was shoved down the stairs and onto the dusty ground below. He felt the chain tense up and then slacken as his chained mate came tumbling down on top of him. Both were yanked to their feet by a large, burly man in a robe-like garment. With consideration to his now acutely obvious plight, Josh noticed that the countryside didn't appear to be as beautiful now. Though the sun spilled its brightness between thick, fluffy clouds with brilliance, the ground now appeared scraggly and unkempt. It looked more like a wilderness that symbolized hopeless captivity.
The bus passengers were herded toward one of the various metal structures before them. As they reached it a large, overhead door scrolled up and the prisoners were herded into a room full of tables and chairs and ordered to take a seat. Papers were scattered about the tables. The men in green commanded them to answer the questionnaires before them as pencils were handed out. Josh felt ill-prepared for many of the inquiries on the paper. As he studied the sheet, he vaguely recalled hearing bits and pieces of the information over the bus speakers that he was now being demanded to produce. But it made no sense. Why would they capture him, chain him to some random people, force them onto a bus and out here into this barren wasteland just to demand answers that had been given to them during the miserable trip? One of the green-clad villains snatched the paper from him and snorted at the lack of answers that he had written. Suddenly, he was released from his Indian partner and dragged out of the room. He struggled to kick free but escape appeared impossible.
Outside, he was slammed against the wall and again chained. He now faced a row of half a dozen men holding large stones of various shapes. Before he could protest, one of the men in broken English began scolding him for his poor performance on the questionnaire. Josh now knew that he was coming face to face with his end because he hadn't listened to the sorry excuse for a radio program on the bus. In his peripheral vision, he noticed the other prisoners walking freely away from the complex, unbound. They must have been listening on that bus ride, he thought. He focus was yanked back to the half-dozen men as he felt a rock hit him in the ribs.
His end was not pretty.
Posted by J. No
Filed in Uncategorized |
