Post by Lex on Jul 6, 2007 9:39:04 GMT -5
Aviary
If everything went as John Mundr wanted, today would be a normal day. He was lying, spread like a fallen eagle, on the ruffled sheets of his single bed, eyes just starting to open. Everything already planned.
He would get up, and have a quick shower. Then he would eat breakfast, followed by the usual rush to catch the train. Work would come next, long office hours of paid monotony. He would return home by train too, eat dinner, then go to sleep.
At some point, he would also talk to the man chained up in his closet.
John threw aside the covers, sat, and got up, hands wiping the sandman’s gift from his eyes. He yawned, stretched, and proceeded down the corridor to the bathroom. He paused half way, and knocked on the closet door.
“Still alive?”
A muttered series of profanities through the wood, all of which John felt were entirely appropriate. It was a Monday morning after all.
“Glad to hear it. I’ll have a shower then I’ll get you some food.”
The shower was hot and steamy, the blessing of a new boiler. John spent slightly too long in there, and once he had dried; breakfast was out of the question.
Hurriedly selecting a tie (red with white hearts), John quickly checked his calendar to see if anything eventful was happening. Indeed, today had some illegible scribble, the meaning of which he could not discern.
“Are we doing anything today,” John called down the hallway. His flat was small enough that the man in his closet could hear wherever Mr Mundr stood, and reply too.
For this reason, John was slightly quizzical at the absence of a response. He took the short trip down the corridor and placed an ear against the closet door.
“Are you alright?”
Profanity, grumble. Still Monday morning.
“I asked what we were doing today; I can’t read what I wrote on the calendar.”
The stream of blasphemies stopped. The man in the closet stirred.
“You could start by letting me go.”
This made the corners of John’s mouth rise.
“I haven’t fed you yet have I?”
John ignored the reply, which was (to say this least) empowered. He strode into the kitchen, and made a bowl of cereal. He then walked back, and opened the closet door.
The meal slid in, and then John straightened up, and left.
* * *
“Today is the day John.”
Today was always the day, but John did not care to point it out.
“Today is the day I get promoted. You see how much work I put in?”
“Yes I do Bill.”
Just because the man sat in the work-cubicle next to John’s did not mean he cared. Sure, the guy put effort in, but it would never pay off.
“You know how long I’ve been working here?”
“No Bill, I don’t. But I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
Bill had been working here for thirteen years, seven months, and four days, but it would spoil the dialogue if John mentioned it. Bill was small, balding, irritating, and all the other fun features that made him look like an ugly tit (the bird, of course).
John only put up with him because on a bad day, he could slip his work over to Bill and know that it would be done. All working towards that promotion.
“Years! My dossier for this week is packed! Once I show the boss I’m sure to get moved up.”
Once the boss saw it, after waking up (sleeping was the only visible work of the staff coordinator) he would probably nod, eject some trash about how excellent it was, then settle back down for his all day kip.
“You listening John?”
“What day is it today Bill? Besides the day you get promoted?”
The calendar was still bugging him. All he could remember was that today was important.
Very important.
Bill ignored the question, grabbed his last weeks work into those greasy hands, and toddled off towards the boss’s office. John watched, knowing how it should unfold.
Snuffle, the nocturnal owl, head so far down it looked like his neck was missing, wakes up. Squawky tit hands over his work. Brief exchange of words (‘very impressive’ ‘thank you sir’). Owl places work on desk, flicking through the pages.
John straightened up for his favourite part; the dismissal. Any moment now, the boss would settle back into his napping position, and Bill would return, sure that higher places were waiting.
But something was amiss. The boss kept talking. Bill looked excited, then relieved. He grabbed the work and left, a spring in his heel.
No way. That son of a-
“John, you’ll never guess what!”
Teeth gritted. Lousy basta-
“I’ve been promoted! The boss is going to retire and I’ll be leading our department from next week!”
Holy sh-
“And that’s not the best of it! They’re refurbishing so I get a brand new office, and a secretary!”
Sweet mercy. Life had finally taken that step forwards.
Bill departed, humming tunelessly. John struggled to keep his mouth from falling open. He turned back to his desk, and spotted his daily planner, unopened. Searching for some kind of distraction, he opened it, and flicked forward to today.
Suddenly, he did not care about Bill.
* * *
The train was late and the temperature was beginning to drop. John shivered, wandering how the final hours would turn out. He gripped the planner tight to his chest, and prayed for the rain to wait a few minutes.
* * *
Dinner was a microwave affair; and so the resultant pizza was both soggy to touch and foul to taste. John ignored this, grabbed a cushion from the single armchair in the living room, and sat down in front of the closet door.
“How was your day? We didn’t get off to a good start.”
Movement behind the wooden door. John quietly chewed a slice of pizza, spitting out a questionable piece of meat.
“Talk to me. I wasn’t in a good mood this morning. It’s just Mondays I guess. How was work Mr Mundr?”
John shrugged.
“Not great. Bill got promoted.”
“Bound to happen at some point. No more easy days then?”
“No. No more. Can you remember what day it is?”
No response. John reached up and opened the closet door.
The man inside was called Ryan Corvus. John liked to think of him as a caged raven; unwashed black hair, thin body, dark clothes which were no more than rags.
John’s only friend, held by chains that prevented Ryan from getting a limb beyond the door.
“My memory is weak John, what day is it?”
John picked up the planner, which he had placed to one side. He flicked through the pages, finally settling on the correct date. He cleared his throat.
“July twenty sixth. My birthday.”
Ryan flinched. John lay back against the wall, closing his eyes.
“No one remembered, including me.”
Ryan ran a hand through his hair, feeling John’s pain.
“How old are you?”
“I can’t remember.”
John handed the plateful of pizza to Ryan, and went directly for his bed. Ryan watched through the open closet door, and shook his head. He waited for the snores to die down, then reached out, and grabbed the key from where John had dropped it.
Tomorrow, while John was at work, he would be free.
* * *
If everything went as John Mundr wanted, today would be full of destruction. Anything to distract from the events of yesterday. He lay on the floor, having fallen the night before, twisted like an eagle turned roadkill.
The boiler broke, and John’s mood quickly turned as icy as the water. He would not respond to yesterday, he would just live as he always had. All to spite whichever power had cursed him this way.
He knocked on the closet door as he passed it.
“Still alive?”
“Yeah, pretty good really. Nice sleep John?”
“…No.”
John left in a hurry, grabbing the first tie he could find (pink, just pink) and almost leaving the flat before remembering he had not fed Ryan.
His hand moved to reopen the door but he stopped it. Ryan could go without for a day.
* * *
The train had been early, but the elevator was broken at work, so John had to walk up the stairs. When he finally arrived at the top floor, his mood had descended to rock bottom, and he didn’t say a word until Bill moved to shake his hand.
“Mr Mundr! Glad you could make it in. What is the excuse? Traffic?”
Promotion had transformed the man. New suit, expensive tie, and that inevitable upturning of the nose. It was almost comical, but John was not in the state to laugh.
“The lift is broken.”
He saw the look in John’s eyes and decided to keep his body intact. John unclenched his fists.
His work cubicle was right next to the door, and so the pleasant hammering and drilling of the workers was a pleasure only John had to endure. Today’s work was particularly dull: organising funding.
However, he would endure. If he did not…
* * *
“How may I help you?”
He guessed it was inevitable that he would end up here, but that did not matter.
“Yes. Can I buy one of whatever’s cheapest?”
The man behind the counter probably had people like him come in all the time.
“Do you have a license sir?”
“No. Does it matter?”
The guy shook his head. It did matter, but he wanted a sale. His customer let an eyebrow rise but the shopkeeper chose to ignore it. He produced a small paper bag, and it was put into the customer’s jacket pocket.
The customer left.
* * *
The front door was unlocked, but John didn’t remember locking it. The light was on in the kitchen, and the door to the closet was open.
The journey home, early, had given him a chance to think. Maybe Ryan didn’t want to live a life like this. Maybe Ryan wanted an escape from it all.
John would do it, just not today.
He walked over to the closet, and was amused to find Ryan asleep. Ryan didn’t usually sleep in the day. Soon he’d be able to sleep all the time.
John didn’t have the heart to awaken him. He didn’t bother with dinner, and chose instead to go straight to bed.
* * *
If everything went as John Mundr wanted, he would do it today. He awoke keen as the hunting eagle. The shower, by some miracle, was working well. John had a nice breakfast.
He chose a brown tie for today, a nice comfortable tie to relate with his good humour. Today, as Will always said, is the day. He could not find his jacket, but that was irrelevant, he would find it later.
Ryan was still asleep. John shut the closet door.
John departed for work, making sure he locked the front door this time. Nothing would spoil today.
The train arrived on time, and the lift was working. Bill apologised for his rudeness and offered him a coffee. Everything was running smoothly.
* * *
The front door was still locked, good.
John stepped in, taking off his shoes. He would do it now. He could not wait any longer.
The closet door was open.
John looked in, and was surprised to see Ryan missing. He staggered a little, and walked into his bedroom.
Nothing, but the door was locked so Ryan could not have left. John stepped into the corridor.
A deft flick turned the lights off, and the gun was drawn.
“Ryan… where are you?”
Ryan stepped forwards.
“Fool.”
Two shots.
John hit the floor hard, bleeding. Ryan bent over him, smiling.
“It was going to happen, Mr Mundr.”
Ryan removed John’s jacket, which he had been wearing. He leant close, whispering into John’s ear.
“Still alive?”
A trickle of blood flowed from the corner of John’s mouth. He tried to speak, but he had no strength left.
“Can you remember what day it is?”
John closed his eyes.
"I got out yesterday so I could buy this gun. Then I cam back, locked myself up, and waited for my moment. It was gunna happen."
John had spent all day thinking that this was the day he freed Ryan. Now…
…nothing but the spite of a raven. The footsteps of flight.
The eagle whimpered, then the world turned pitch.
If everything went as John Mundr wanted, today would be a normal day. He was lying, spread like a fallen eagle, on the ruffled sheets of his single bed, eyes just starting to open. Everything already planned.
He would get up, and have a quick shower. Then he would eat breakfast, followed by the usual rush to catch the train. Work would come next, long office hours of paid monotony. He would return home by train too, eat dinner, then go to sleep.
At some point, he would also talk to the man chained up in his closet.
John threw aside the covers, sat, and got up, hands wiping the sandman’s gift from his eyes. He yawned, stretched, and proceeded down the corridor to the bathroom. He paused half way, and knocked on the closet door.
“Still alive?”
A muttered series of profanities through the wood, all of which John felt were entirely appropriate. It was a Monday morning after all.
“Glad to hear it. I’ll have a shower then I’ll get you some food.”
The shower was hot and steamy, the blessing of a new boiler. John spent slightly too long in there, and once he had dried; breakfast was out of the question.
Hurriedly selecting a tie (red with white hearts), John quickly checked his calendar to see if anything eventful was happening. Indeed, today had some illegible scribble, the meaning of which he could not discern.
“Are we doing anything today,” John called down the hallway. His flat was small enough that the man in his closet could hear wherever Mr Mundr stood, and reply too.
For this reason, John was slightly quizzical at the absence of a response. He took the short trip down the corridor and placed an ear against the closet door.
“Are you alright?”
Profanity, grumble. Still Monday morning.
“I asked what we were doing today; I can’t read what I wrote on the calendar.”
The stream of blasphemies stopped. The man in the closet stirred.
“You could start by letting me go.”
This made the corners of John’s mouth rise.
“I haven’t fed you yet have I?”
John ignored the reply, which was (to say this least) empowered. He strode into the kitchen, and made a bowl of cereal. He then walked back, and opened the closet door.
The meal slid in, and then John straightened up, and left.
* * *
“Today is the day John.”
Today was always the day, but John did not care to point it out.
“Today is the day I get promoted. You see how much work I put in?”
“Yes I do Bill.”
Just because the man sat in the work-cubicle next to John’s did not mean he cared. Sure, the guy put effort in, but it would never pay off.
“You know how long I’ve been working here?”
“No Bill, I don’t. But I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
Bill had been working here for thirteen years, seven months, and four days, but it would spoil the dialogue if John mentioned it. Bill was small, balding, irritating, and all the other fun features that made him look like an ugly tit (the bird, of course).
John only put up with him because on a bad day, he could slip his work over to Bill and know that it would be done. All working towards that promotion.
“Years! My dossier for this week is packed! Once I show the boss I’m sure to get moved up.”
Once the boss saw it, after waking up (sleeping was the only visible work of the staff coordinator) he would probably nod, eject some trash about how excellent it was, then settle back down for his all day kip.
“You listening John?”
“What day is it today Bill? Besides the day you get promoted?”
The calendar was still bugging him. All he could remember was that today was important.
Very important.
Bill ignored the question, grabbed his last weeks work into those greasy hands, and toddled off towards the boss’s office. John watched, knowing how it should unfold.
Snuffle, the nocturnal owl, head so far down it looked like his neck was missing, wakes up. Squawky tit hands over his work. Brief exchange of words (‘very impressive’ ‘thank you sir’). Owl places work on desk, flicking through the pages.
John straightened up for his favourite part; the dismissal. Any moment now, the boss would settle back into his napping position, and Bill would return, sure that higher places were waiting.
But something was amiss. The boss kept talking. Bill looked excited, then relieved. He grabbed the work and left, a spring in his heel.
No way. That son of a-
“John, you’ll never guess what!”
Teeth gritted. Lousy basta-
“I’ve been promoted! The boss is going to retire and I’ll be leading our department from next week!”
Holy sh-
“And that’s not the best of it! They’re refurbishing so I get a brand new office, and a secretary!”
Sweet mercy. Life had finally taken that step forwards.
Bill departed, humming tunelessly. John struggled to keep his mouth from falling open. He turned back to his desk, and spotted his daily planner, unopened. Searching for some kind of distraction, he opened it, and flicked forward to today.
Suddenly, he did not care about Bill.
* * *
The train was late and the temperature was beginning to drop. John shivered, wandering how the final hours would turn out. He gripped the planner tight to his chest, and prayed for the rain to wait a few minutes.
* * *
Dinner was a microwave affair; and so the resultant pizza was both soggy to touch and foul to taste. John ignored this, grabbed a cushion from the single armchair in the living room, and sat down in front of the closet door.
“How was your day? We didn’t get off to a good start.”
Movement behind the wooden door. John quietly chewed a slice of pizza, spitting out a questionable piece of meat.
“Talk to me. I wasn’t in a good mood this morning. It’s just Mondays I guess. How was work Mr Mundr?”
John shrugged.
“Not great. Bill got promoted.”
“Bound to happen at some point. No more easy days then?”
“No. No more. Can you remember what day it is?”
No response. John reached up and opened the closet door.
The man inside was called Ryan Corvus. John liked to think of him as a caged raven; unwashed black hair, thin body, dark clothes which were no more than rags.
John’s only friend, held by chains that prevented Ryan from getting a limb beyond the door.
“My memory is weak John, what day is it?”
John picked up the planner, which he had placed to one side. He flicked through the pages, finally settling on the correct date. He cleared his throat.
“July twenty sixth. My birthday.”
Ryan flinched. John lay back against the wall, closing his eyes.
“No one remembered, including me.”
Ryan ran a hand through his hair, feeling John’s pain.
“How old are you?”
“I can’t remember.”
John handed the plateful of pizza to Ryan, and went directly for his bed. Ryan watched through the open closet door, and shook his head. He waited for the snores to die down, then reached out, and grabbed the key from where John had dropped it.
Tomorrow, while John was at work, he would be free.
* * *
If everything went as John Mundr wanted, today would be full of destruction. Anything to distract from the events of yesterday. He lay on the floor, having fallen the night before, twisted like an eagle turned roadkill.
The boiler broke, and John’s mood quickly turned as icy as the water. He would not respond to yesterday, he would just live as he always had. All to spite whichever power had cursed him this way.
He knocked on the closet door as he passed it.
“Still alive?”
“Yeah, pretty good really. Nice sleep John?”
“…No.”
John left in a hurry, grabbing the first tie he could find (pink, just pink) and almost leaving the flat before remembering he had not fed Ryan.
His hand moved to reopen the door but he stopped it. Ryan could go without for a day.
* * *
The train had been early, but the elevator was broken at work, so John had to walk up the stairs. When he finally arrived at the top floor, his mood had descended to rock bottom, and he didn’t say a word until Bill moved to shake his hand.
“Mr Mundr! Glad you could make it in. What is the excuse? Traffic?”
Promotion had transformed the man. New suit, expensive tie, and that inevitable upturning of the nose. It was almost comical, but John was not in the state to laugh.
“The lift is broken.”
He saw the look in John’s eyes and decided to keep his body intact. John unclenched his fists.
His work cubicle was right next to the door, and so the pleasant hammering and drilling of the workers was a pleasure only John had to endure. Today’s work was particularly dull: organising funding.
However, he would endure. If he did not…
* * *
“How may I help you?”
He guessed it was inevitable that he would end up here, but that did not matter.
“Yes. Can I buy one of whatever’s cheapest?”
The man behind the counter probably had people like him come in all the time.
“Do you have a license sir?”
“No. Does it matter?”
The guy shook his head. It did matter, but he wanted a sale. His customer let an eyebrow rise but the shopkeeper chose to ignore it. He produced a small paper bag, and it was put into the customer’s jacket pocket.
The customer left.
* * *
The front door was unlocked, but John didn’t remember locking it. The light was on in the kitchen, and the door to the closet was open.
The journey home, early, had given him a chance to think. Maybe Ryan didn’t want to live a life like this. Maybe Ryan wanted an escape from it all.
John would do it, just not today.
He walked over to the closet, and was amused to find Ryan asleep. Ryan didn’t usually sleep in the day. Soon he’d be able to sleep all the time.
John didn’t have the heart to awaken him. He didn’t bother with dinner, and chose instead to go straight to bed.
* * *
If everything went as John Mundr wanted, he would do it today. He awoke keen as the hunting eagle. The shower, by some miracle, was working well. John had a nice breakfast.
He chose a brown tie for today, a nice comfortable tie to relate with his good humour. Today, as Will always said, is the day. He could not find his jacket, but that was irrelevant, he would find it later.
Ryan was still asleep. John shut the closet door.
John departed for work, making sure he locked the front door this time. Nothing would spoil today.
The train arrived on time, and the lift was working. Bill apologised for his rudeness and offered him a coffee. Everything was running smoothly.
* * *
The front door was still locked, good.
John stepped in, taking off his shoes. He would do it now. He could not wait any longer.
The closet door was open.
John looked in, and was surprised to see Ryan missing. He staggered a little, and walked into his bedroom.
Nothing, but the door was locked so Ryan could not have left. John stepped into the corridor.
A deft flick turned the lights off, and the gun was drawn.
“Ryan… where are you?”
Ryan stepped forwards.
“Fool.”
Two shots.
John hit the floor hard, bleeding. Ryan bent over him, smiling.
“It was going to happen, Mr Mundr.”
Ryan removed John’s jacket, which he had been wearing. He leant close, whispering into John’s ear.
“Still alive?”
A trickle of blood flowed from the corner of John’s mouth. He tried to speak, but he had no strength left.
“Can you remember what day it is?”
John closed his eyes.
"I got out yesterday so I could buy this gun. Then I cam back, locked myself up, and waited for my moment. It was gunna happen."
John had spent all day thinking that this was the day he freed Ryan. Now…
…nothing but the spite of a raven. The footsteps of flight.
The eagle whimpered, then the world turned pitch.
