Chapter 5 (Cont.)
The forces of heavens remain imbued within grimaced lacerations in the cold perfection of Tatterstown and its external world. Flawless networks! Marvelous central matrix systems that keep it protected from the nuclear wasteland. I am walking on a skyscraper that can be seen from the lateralis of the streets a distant fountain of smokes. Fire in the external world! Fire in the perfection? Rushes. Bees coming out of its torpor. Duty-bound responsibility of the firemen takes ahold. Not bored any longer. There's kerosene around she's something to do. Outpouring rancour of domestic violence or misshapen conduct of domestic security leading to arson. With or without motivation. With or without realisation. With or without destination. Complex. A flying vehicle, Tatterstown's technological jargon call the likes "Aeropropulsive Transportation", is already seen looming on the horizon. Reaching for the smokes coming from a floor in the skyscraper. 53rd floor. 54th. 56th. Th the th. Come hither. Icarus I dare thee! This is not myth. Aeropropulsive Transportation. Intumescence. Modern culinary arts not reliant on fire. Cigarettes must it had been. Dousing. Doused. The firemen will be successful as they drown the light. Kerosene not around. Bored. Terminality. No purpose. I keep on walking, the rains are starting to subdue. Gentle yet unsenile. Couples and saved dogs. The flora and the fauna thrive in zoos and framed botany. There were gardens in Tatterstown and around the NWF but they don't. They are not sanctuary. They are museums. I'm 27. Promoted. 28 almost. The flora are not that old but their ancestors were from organic greens. Not bearing self-loathing chlorophyll but joyful in the vast stomata of the universe. Let light in. Photosynthesis. Give away oxygen and fruits. Nourishment for the whole world. Happiness is the flower shared. But I'm happy though, I really am. My happiness is absolute knowing that my feet had touched the woodenwarmspunfloorenziums of Massachusetts mansion. If only for just two years. Mrs. Krallice Gotard brought me into this world. She held me close and taught me of the ways of communication. Moi nwame is Chooveen. Her hands held my delicate alwayscurve fingers. She picked me up when I fell and supported me when I was going to fell. Then she went out in silence one day. Did she get to teach me about the negativities of the world? Not murder, not betrayal, not greed not pride not lust not slothery. Slitherine... Euphemism! Child, there are ghosts! If you don't fall asleep in time they will crawl out from under the bed. Little Chauvin, behave now. The phantoms will come. Mothers and fathers do not tell their babies of the real monsters. What can you do? Babies know that they have been born into a world of benevolence. They are the fountain of all things bright and innocent. Why would you ruin their joy? Let them live. Son, the monsters are vampires, phantoms, echoes of Helheim. Not greed not pride not betrayal. The ghosts take the burden. Mother, I'd have loved to hear more of your words of wisdom. I wonder how your speeches would be adjusted when I became 7. 8. 9. Promoted. Soon I was to cross elementary. Middle school. High school. College. If Mrs. Krallice Gotard had not fallen into perpetual speechlessness, I wonder how things would turn out. But I am still happy. I don't remember her aura but it's embedded deep into the Akashic records of my soul. The foliages of Massachusetts. Dusty country roads. The mysterious everdarkgreen cradle of the Earth as the sun took the day off. I don't see them. I don't remember them. I existed amidst them one day. Alas, if only I was born earlier...
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Affairs Mk. 3 XI / Max High