Spinning Jenny Smith Apple Sauce Pan Handle Bar by Brady Lund

Sep 15 2013 Published by under The WiFiles

Yesterday I found a handkerchief as I walked through the towering forests. What an obscure device from a foreign time! I stashed in my pocket and continued on my way. Late in the evening, when I finally settled for the night, I retrieved the worn piece of cloth. Upon my further inspection I spotted a faint mark. ‘Dinah, blow your…’ What does this mean? I have no idea, but it made me think of a really good idea: mucus-powered trains. It’s renewable.

I have now gotten to where this sad humor is my greatest hope at feeling human. Hope, in this case, may be improper, as typically it signifies will. In fact, I rather enjoy my present state. I feel as though I were Socrates among the common people, superior. Although, in this case, I’m rather an old man with a scraggly beard who has spent so long among the trees he has given them names. If you think that’s off-putting, Peter is starting to lose his bark. Now, I don’t mean to get all ‘radical doomsayer!’ up on you, but…

Unfortunately, the troubles of our world fail to stop at our expansive waist. It must continue to further force bile into our gallbladder until it bursts into a bloody soup. Corruption, at all levels of government, jumps to an unforeseen high. Crime, plots managed by wealthy masterminds, occurs in hundreds each day. Put one and two together and you get, well, me, and a story of how I, and thousands in my present situation, suffer a perpetual hell, as crooks take a literal bath in their fortunes.

I remember the time well, as though it flittered in my head only but a second past, yet it has been nearly two score (the uneducated man, which you very well might be in this society, should know two score to be a period of forty years, or approximately as long as the penalty for verbal slander of government functions).The School I called home, District Building 345-6, a disgusting box comprised of white plastic, held well over 22000 kids, as at this time it had at least that many in attendance at its various centers. I remember a kindergarten class. The government thought kindergarten unnecessary, they provided little funding for the poor teachers, who often lived in shoeboxes (my name for a 1 by 1.5 metre apartment). Only four classes were allotted for this purpose. My mother led me to class the first day and unleashed me into a 100 foot room with three times that number of students. How did we survive? Well, after the first day, less than one percent of the students returned for another teaching. So we lose a valuable education and take another step to illiteracy and feeblemindedness.

They built the school on a great lot where the majestic forests of Yellowstone once stood. I never got the opportunity to venture that land before it was ripped apart for construction, but I can imagine the beauty: the soft winds, the coo of the birds in high trees, the scent of flowers. How I yearned to taste that dew on the grass blades, to feel the rush of a wild winter’s blizzard, but was refined to the world of the real. During recess they released the little children on the fields where Old Faithful once stood. My, how spectacular a sight that must have been, to sit at a spout and wait for the moment when a rush of water would spring forth from the earth, beauty like the birth of a child, renewal of the old. We can’t and couldn’t afford nature anymore. It’s either us or a ‘dumb tree’ as they put it. Nowadays one square foot of land is more valuable than an ounce of gold in some areas. Back in Kansas and Nebraska even, an acre of land can cost upwards of 10 million. In this world, only those with a great abundance of money, the quote ‘Megatraneurs’, could afford some nature. They never bought in this area, so I’ve never seen it, but I hear that up in the north and along the water there are some beautiful properties, wild animals even, maybe a deer. I’ve never seen a deer, though I hear they’re graceful creatures. No, around here there is none of that, only barren white. But at least no one starves.

The school property takes up nearly three miles square and at the highest point stands 8 stories. It’s basically a city, with restaurants, shopping centers and even movie theatres. School became a lax term around the time of great expansion. Now School includes any government run entity, except the police, which are barely controlled by the government at all. In order to raise sufficient funds for construction the builders of the school included housing units, now a common feature, which could be rented or bought at extravagant prices. Even an entire hospital was built in the center square. Its hallways were as wide as streets. Nearly any cart could drive down the alley, though most couldn’t afford the luxury. The school was too large for the government to manage altogether. Over the first few years, many parts were sold off to private investors. Our lunch service, for instance, was managed by a national food chain that had its headquarters in Wyoming. Not always was the government certain of the quality of the food, but at least it was no cost to them, and they were made certain that each child received it. We were lucky if ten percent of our meal was made of real food, a majority consisted of artificially flavored starches.

President Clinton Memorial Schools was the affectionate name given to the construct (named after the second Clinton president). It split into ten sections off the central hub, each of these headed by a general principal. Each of those sections was dissected into two halves, led by assistant principals. I attended the third section, second half. The assistant principal that managed my section was Mrs. Jonez. She’s the daughter of a former head principal. Students knew Jonez as the lady with four husbands. It showed her incredible wealth, most people could afford only one spouse. That’s how it usually works here. There are so many people in this world that only the ones with connections have any shot at a good career. I hardly ever saw Mr. Jonez. She had to manage 2400 other children, and she hated kids, not as I do, because of their addition to our population, but because of her own selfish motivations. Most adults just didn’t mind the time to kids. They didn’t understand society. They were creative and could dream of things beyond the white. To her, I appeared one of the many. She had no time for me, my emotions or issues.

We worked, lived, on an 8 hour blocked schedule. Each day we had classes, all seven of the week, and the courses alternated. Math, Science and History were one day. English and liberal arts electives (though not too liberal, we expressed ourselves through harsh realism) were the next day.  After school most kids go out to the sand fields and do whatever they please. The Sand fields were a depressing place, as they still are, where the trees once flourished the government dropped mounds of sand, stunting growth. Occasionally I’d go home and read in the quiet, though it was greatly encouraged by all of society. I liked reading old fiction from back in a time when there was actually room to breathe. I can imagine the time of great science fiction, where they not only thought of expansion in this world, but of others. There was so much room back then, billions of miles to expand. We can’t expand, we’ve tried, and we’ve faced the harsh consequences of life on another planet. Our failures did further more to damage our dreams and hopes and put us in our current position. We lived in a confinement. Children had little to do but suffer through a miserable years. We could not even buy our freedom. In order to drop the unemployment rate, no one under 18 was allowed to hold a job.

I lived directly above my math class, on the second floor of the school. Often I would go down early in the morning and sit in the doorway of the school. From there I could watch the sun rise over what remained of the forest, an oval of trees around a small pond. And I longed to visit this place my whole life. My parents guaranteed a visit on my eighteenth birthday, but I knew it would never materialize. That particular day four other boys joined me at the door, one of which was my good friend Hayden. The other three were just faces that I had seen in passing, many were like that in a wide school. They had all brought along breakfast, I brought a book. The doorway was one of the few places in the school that the government paid to have constantly lit (the others were public bathrooms and the hallways of the principals’ apartment wing). Every other location in the building would only be lit upon payment, a rate which was high during the day and absolutely impossible to afford at night.

So I sat and enjoyed the free lighting and watched the sun rise in the east. The other boys finished their meal and decided to start a game of poker. Though it isn’t particularly important, I remember this moment more clear than any other, everyone loved games. In our world, games were a way to escape, cheap entertainment. It used a bit more creativity than society would have liked but, hey, we were rebels, or in the old world, hippies. They wanted to know if Hayden and I would join them. Hayden agreed, but I declined, I was at an exciting point in my book, the spaceship. Simply the word SPACE afflicted me with such great joy as to put me in a state of nirvana-like trance. In school they played an invented type of poker called Quicks. Perhaps it was more like a matching game. Each player was dealt a card. Then, one at a time, a card was laid down. Between each round there was a period of bidding. The object was to get the card that was closest to the rest of the set. For each number value a card was off points was added. An order was set for the suits: Spade, Club, Diamond, and Heart. They ran in a clockwise order and for each value off a point was added. For example, if your card was a 7 of Clubs and the first card in the set was a nine of hearts then the player would score 2 and 2 for a score of 4. This would go for all 5 cards then are added together. It was a fairly complex game, but that was part of the fun for students, their expression of complexity.

Hayden had won 35 pennies when they quit the game. Most of the people in the school were awake by that time, the sun was high and bustle was about the bedrooms. School started in 20 minutes. No one else had been near the school entrance the entire time they had been there. It wasn’t greatly frequented, except for the lone wanderer. A couple of the boys gathered their things in their bags and prepared to leave, as their classes were on the opposite side of the building. A small scratch at the door made them turn in unison, almost a funny occurrence, but I never found occasion to laugh. One of the boys asked, ‘What was that?’ Approximately 10 men stood in a group around the doors, knocking to get in. All the boys nudged at each other to decide who would answer the door, if any. They were unsure if they were at right to open the doors for strangers. But I was curious; I wasn’t going to play around with this game. I went right over and opened the door for them. I didn’t think anything of them at the time. They just seemed like normal guys. I wondered what their business might be with this school.

They came in from the cold and greeted us like normal human beings. One of them, a guy with a long beard, asked me where the cafeteria was. I told him that he had come in through the wrong side of the building for that. It was all the way across the school. But I did point him in the right direction. His look showed me that I had just made a Herculean mistake, it was of pure malice. He thanked me and then made a little motion towards his friends. From their bags they revealed guns, ones more powerful than I had seen in my entire life. They fired at my fellow students, easily handling them. Hayden was unfortunate enough to get shot in the throat. He laid on the hard surface of the floor croaking to his death for what seemed hours.

Then they cleaned off one of their guns, while I stood paralyzed in fear, and threw it over to me. I jumped back from it. What cruel intent did they plan for this device? In order to make sure everyone understood what happened, he fired a bullet into one of the walls. It went through a cheap layer of drywall and into the head of one of the math teachers, an incredibly lucky shot. And I ran, just quick enough to narrowly avoid the grasp of a rather corpulent professor. the troubles of our world fail to find a stop at our expansive waist. It must continue to further force bile into our gallbladder until it bursts into a bloody soup. Corruption, at all levels of government, jumps to an unforeseen high. Crime, plots managed by wealthy masterminds, occurs in hundreds each day. Put one and two together and you get, well, me, and a story of how I, and thousands in my present situation, suffer a perpetual hell, as crooks take a literal bath in their fortunes.

I remember the time well, as though it flittered in my head only but a second past, yet it has been nearly two score (the uneducated man, which you very well might be in this society, should know two score to be a period of forty years, or approximately as long as the penalty for verbal slander of government functions).The School I called home, District Building 345-6, a disgusting box comprised of white plastic, held well over 22000 kids, as at this time it had at least that many in attendance at its various centers. I remember a kindergarten class. The government thought kindergarten unnecessary, they provided little funding for the poor teachers, who often lived in shoeboxes (my name for a 1 by 1.5 metre apartment). Only four classes were allotted for this purpose. My mother led me to class the first day and unleashed me into a 100 foot room with three times that number of students. How did we survive? Well, after the first day, less than one percent of the students returned for another teaching. So we lose a valuable education and take another step to illiteracy and feeblemindedness.

They built the school on a great lot where the majestic forests of Yellowstone once stood. I never got the opportunity to venture that land before it was ripped apart for construction, but I can imagine the beauty: the soft winds, the coo of the birds in high trees, the scent of flowers. How I yearned to taste that dew on the grass blades, to feel the rush of a wild winter’s blizzard, but was refined to the world of the real. During recess they released the little children on the fields where Old Faithful once stood. My, how spectacular a sight that must have been, to sit at a spout and wait for the moment when a rush of water would spring forth from the earth, beauty like the birth of a child, renewal of the old. We can’t and couldn’t afford nature anymore. It’s either us or a ‘dumb tree’ as they put it. Nowadays one square foot of land is more valuable than an ounce of gold in some areas. Back in Kansas and Nebraska even, an acre of land can cost upwards of ten million. In this world, only those with a great abundance of money, the quote ‘Megatraneurs’, could afford some nature. They never bought in this area, so I’ve never seen it, but I hear that up in the north and along the water there are some beautiful properties, wild animals even, maybe a deer. I’ve never seen a deer, though I hear they’re graceful creatures. No, around here there is none of that, only barren white. But at least no one starves.

The school property tookup nearly three miles square and at the highest point stands 8 stories. It’s basically a city, with restaurants, shopping centers and even movie theatres. School became a lax term around the time of great expansion. Now School includes any government run entity, except the police, which are barely controlled by the government at all. In order to raise sufficient funds for construction the builders of the school included housing units, now a common feature, which could be rented or bought at extravagant prices. Even an entire hospital was built in the center square. Its hallways were as wide as streets. Nearly any cart could drive down the alley, though most couldn’t afford the luxury. The school was too large for the government to manage altogether. Over the first few years, many parts were sold off to private investors. Our lunch service, for instance, was managed by a national food chain that had its headquarters in Wyoming. Not always was the government certain of the quality of the food, but at least it was no cost to them, and they were made certain that each child received it. We were lucky if ten percent of our meal was made of real food, a majority consisted of artificially flavored starches.

President Clinton Memorial Schools was the affectionate name given to the construct (named after the second Clinton president). It split into ten sections off the central hub, each of these headed by a general principal. Each of those sections was dissected into two halves, led by assistant principals. I attended the third section, second half. The assistant principal that managed my section was Mrs. Jonez. She’s the daughter of a former head principal. Students knew Jonez as the lady with four husbands. It showed her incredible wealth, most people could afford only one spouse. That’s how it usually works here. There are so many people in this world that only the ones with connections have any shot at a good career. I hardly ever saw Mr. Jonez. She had to manage 2400 other children, and she hated kids, not as I do, because of their addition to our population, but because of her own selfish motivations. Most adults just didn’t mind the time to kids. They didn’t understand society. They were creative and could dream of things beyond the white. To her, I appeared one of the many. She had no time for me, my emotions or issues.

We worked, lived, on an eight hour blocked schedule. Each day we had classes, all seven of the week, and the courses alternated. Math, Science and History were one day. English and liberal arts electives (though not too liberal, we expressed ourselves through harsh realism) were the next day.  After school most kids go out to the sand fields and do whatever they please. The Sand fields were a depressing place, as they still are, where the trees once flourished the government dropped mounds of sand, stunting growth. Occasionally I’d go home and read in the quiet, though it was greatly encouraged by all of society. I liked reading old fiction from back in a time when there was actually room to breathe. I can imagine the time of great science fiction, where they not only thought of expansion in this world, but of others. There was so much room back then, billions of miles to expand. We can’t expand, we’ve tried, and we’ve faced the harsh consequences of life on another planet. Our failures did further more to damage our dreams and hopes and put us in our current position. We lived in a confinement. Children had little to do but suffer through a miserable years. We could not even buy our freedom. In order to drop the unemployment rate, no one under 18 was allowed to hold a job.

I lived directly above my math class, on the second floor of the school. Often I would go down early in the morning and sit in the doorway of the school. From there I could watch the sun rise over what remained of the forest, an oval of trees around a small pond. And I longed to visit this place my whole life. My parents guaranteed a visit on my eighteenth birthday, but I knew it would never materialize. That particular day four other boys joined me at the door, one of which was my good friend Hayden. The other three were just faces that I had seen in passing, many were like that in a wide school. They had all brought along breakfast, I brought a book. The doorway was one of the few places in the school that the government paid to have constantly lit (the others were public bathrooms and the hallways of the principals’ apartment wing). Every other location in the building would only be lit upon payment, a rate which was high during the day and absolutely impossible to afford at night.

So I sat and enjoyed the free lighting and watched the sun rise in the east. The other boys finished their meal and decided to start a game of poker. Though it isn’t particularly important, I remember this moment more clear than any other, everyone loved games. In our world, games were a way to escape, cheap entertainment. It used a bit more creativity than society would have liked but, hey, we were rebels, or in the old world, hippies. They wanted to know if Hayden and I would join them. Hayden agreed, but I declined, I was at an exciting point in my book, the spaceship. Simply the word SPACE afflicted me with such great joy as to put me in a state of nirvana-like trance. In school they played an invented type of poker called Quicks. Perhaps it was more like a matching game. Each player was dealt a card. Then, one at a time, a card was laid down. Between each round there was a period of bidding. The object was to get the card that was closest to the rest of the set. For each number value a card was off points was added. An order was set for the suits: Spade, Club, Diamond, and Heart. They ran in a clockwise order and for each value off a point was added. For example, if your card was a 7 of Clubs and the first card in the set was a nine of hearts then the player would score 2 and 2 for a score of 4. This would go for all 5 cards then are added together. It was a fairly complex game, but that was part of the fun for students, their expression of complexity.

Hayden had won 35 pennies when they quit the game – not that this fact has any relevance. Most of the people in the school were awake by that time, the sun was high and bustle was about the bedrooms. School started in 20 minutes. No one else had been near the school entrance the entire time they had been there. It wasn’t greatly frequented, except for the lone wanderer. A couple of the boys gathered their things in their bags and prepared to leave, as their classes were on the opposite side of the building. A small scratch at the door made them turn in unison, almost a funny occurrence, but I never found occasion to laugh. One of the boys asked, “What was that?”

“A cat chasing a bat with a hat.”

“Oh, okay. He sat back against the wall, deep in a dreamy trance.

Approximately 10 men stood in a group around the doors. All the boys nudged at each other to decide who would answer the door, if any. They were unsure if they were at right to open the doors for strangers. But I was curious. I was not  going to play around with this game. I went right over and opened the door for them. I didn’t think anything of them at the time. They just seemed like normal guys. I wondered what their business might be with this school.

They came in from the cold and greeted us as normal human beings. One of them, a guy with a long beard, asked me where the cafeteria was. I told him that he had come in through the wrong side of the building for that. It was all the way across the school. But I did point him in the right direction. His look showed me that I had just made a Herculean mistake, it was of pure malice. He thanked me and then made a little motion towards his friends. From their bags they revealed guns, ones more powerful than I had seen in my entire life. They fired at my fellow students, easily handling them. Hayden was unfortunate enough to get shot in the throat. He laid on the hard surface of the floor croaking to his death for what seemed hours. It was actually quite entertaining; grotesque, but entertaining. I have a lighter state of mind now when it comes to things like my friend bleeding out in front of me. It’s all transcendent.

One clever goat (and by goat I mean that he his facial hair was literally shaved into the shape of a goat) tossed a blank gun in my lap. I jumped away, as any wise boy would do in such a case. Only such a naïve fool as, well, pretty much anyone who lived in that damn vile place would fail to comprehend their intent.  In order to make sure everyone understood exactly what happened, he fired a bullet into one of the walls. It burst through a cheap layer of drywall and into the head of one of the math teachers, an incredibly lucky shot. The halls filled in a quick moment – they are still animals, who know what a loud noise signifies. And I ran, just quick enough to narrowly avoid the grasp of a rather corpulent professor.

Local Enforcement searched for two days before their sirens ceased in a rather unanimous sigh. For several weeks I lived on a diet of roots and leaves, which were not all too nutritious. The metaphysical no longer felt complicated any longer. I lived like an eternal sufferer of hell, but I thrived with an optimistic disposition of the awe-struck wonderer of heaven. I touched the dew on the morning leaves. I’m free, I’m finally free of the world, I have my own place in the woods where I can live and be happy. Yet, at the same while, people only feet away, on the other side of the trees, suffered in their miserable monotony as they worked towards a certain doom. The world expanded, conditions grew worse and fate looked bleak. Finally, after about two months of my forest life, I got the courage to venture down to the city. I moved at night, when no one was out to spot me.  All I wanted was a paper. I wanted to read through the news. The headline reflected my suspicions, Terrorists Attack Small Wyoming School, 420 Killed In Massacre.

It would be overly spiteful to say they deserved such a terrible injury, but I cannot say I felt greatly empathetic. Society is a living organism. Its infrastructure, its citizens, they support the organism. The perseverance of faulty philosophies pumps the cancerous muck through its veins. To the body I am nothing but a virus, an unwanted pathogen. And, to put an end to this twisted analogy, the body decides to annihilate me from being.

The first, and only, place I went was to the residence of a good old friend. His shed was open so I allowed myself in. I took a hacksaw because, you know, hacksaw can always come into SOME use.  Then I took the food rations he kept under his work table, mainly gardening seeds, peanut butter and some canned goods. Delicious, I know. But that would be plenty sufficient for my lifestyle. I live off little. Forget the school, forget this uncontrollably expanding world. The true death of humanity will not come through our advancements but merely our stupidities. Our problem is when those two are unable to differentiate. I left for the forest, what remained of it, and have lived here to this day. I may come back to the city someday, but I intend never to see another human. And so I end my writing with a preposition, with the hope of one day correcting it up…

oh damn, it never happened.

Author bio: As the sun sets on the sleepy settlement, salty salamanders smack snakes softly as the sad snail sings. In other words, I like the color black, potato straws, football and blues.

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