The heavy window creaked as he tried to push it above his head.  He clenched his teeth and inched his head around. The three sleeping figures didn’t seem to have moved from their last position. He relaxed, turned back, and forced his thin body through the opening.

His feet made a slight thud as the bottoms of his sand-shoes hit the ground. As much as he enjoyed walking barefoot, the path to the beach could get rocky. Other than the moon, there would be little light along the way. He didn’t want to have to explain to his older brothers why his feet were all cut up. Better to be safe and wear shoes.

It was a clear night and he looked up at the sky as he walked.  The numerous stars blinked on and off at measurable intervals. He stopped for a moment, making note of the rhythmic patterns. Those that were closest to the shore twinkled quickly, one and two and three and four…while those that were furthest away were slower, one, two, three… The beats began to form sounds and he imagined their placement on a grand staff. He would play the closer stars with his right hand and the farthest with his left. Or maybe it should be the other way around….He forced the image away. No time for this now.

His father’s voice bellowed in silent recrimination and he lowered his eyes.“Pay attention, Brian. Stop losing yourself in that garbage. You have work to do.” He fixed his gaze in front of him and continued.

The phosphorus moon highlighted the tall, bristly grass and he knew that he was approaching the water. He pushed the heavy leaves aside and walked down the sloping trail. The air was thick with the smell of salt and a slight breeze blew through his dark brown hair. He breathed in deeply, swallowing the salt and silt, and headed for the shore.

He looked around and searched for the outline of an approaching person. Unable to see any movement, he sat down at the water’s edge. He removed his sand-shoes and dipped his naked heels into the chilly froth. The tide was coming in and the waves were pushing and pulling against the shore. They moved back and forth in a slow rhythm across his feet. One, two…three, four…one, two…three, four…he raised his hands and pictured his fingers on the ivory keys.

“You all right there buddy?”

Brian stood up and turned around. “Sorry.” He placed his palms by his side. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

The moon’s reflection on the water illuminated the figure of a tall man, standing about four feet away. Why hadn’t he heard the man’s approach? He really did get lost at times.

“Do, you, uh…” He fumbled for the words. “Do you have the stuff?”

“Yup.” The man patted a mound that lay at his hip.”Did you bring the cash?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small disk. “Yea.” He held it in his fingers.

“Well, give it to me, boy.” He reached over and took it from his hand. “You never done nothing like this before, have you kid?”

“Not really.”

“Well don’t you worry.” He pulled out something from the mound. “You’re in good hands.”

He watched as the man slid the plastic cylinder into the side of what seemed to be a small machine. It let off a bright light as it loaded and searched for a connection. Why hadn’t he noticed that the man had a beard? His mother had been sending him to the vegetable market for years, yet he never noticed the facial hair. There was something strangely intimate about being alone with someone in the naked moonlight.

He held his breath and waited for the credits to be accepted. The disk held every millisecond of torture he endured in the mines inside of its smooth walls. Like most of the boys in the community, he spent his afternoons doing odd jobs for the miners; sweeping up smaller stones, fetching equipment, and collecting the papers to wrap the fragile minerals that were extracted from the hard gravel.  His father let him keep half of his wages and he had been saving the payments in a virtual account for years – well before anyone realized that he could operate a computer.

Ping. The man smiled and pulled the disk out.”You’re good to go.” He gave it back to Brian. “Now,” he began and reached into the tattered bag. “Let’s see what we got.” His hand emerged clenching several round objects. “This,” he explained, using the fingers of his free hand to select one, “is your identity chip. It’s got your new name, registry number, and personality profile.” He handed it to Brian. “This,” he continued, selecting a slightly smaller one. “Is the letter and credits for the freighter chief. It should cover the trip and keep him happy enough to stay quiet…”

The man continued to give him lengthy instructions about each item, but Brian was only hearing bits and pieces. “When you get to the …and remember to ask him where he’s going to…” His words were drifting in and out like the soft background music that played at the local shopping center. Something else had grabbed his attention, a realization that was growing at the center of his consciousness. He was really doing it! He was really going to get off this godforsaken slab of molten rock! He shivered as he took the disks, one by one, and placed them in his pants pocket.

“You listening to me kid?”

“Uh huh.” Brian tilted his head.

“Good. ‘Cause if you screw this up, I won’t be there to help. This never happened. Got it?”

“Got it.”

The man began to walk away. “Oh,” he called out. “And don’t be late. Nobody’s gonna wait for you.”

He waited until the silhouette disappeared into the darkness and stroked his pocket.  Three more days! Just 72 hours and he would be free! Free from the filthy dust that formed hard little balls under his fingernails and stiffened the joints of his hands. Free to lose himself in the sounds that drifted and danced throughout the atmosphere. ..

He headed back along the path, careful not to make a sound. A prickly leaf whipped against his forehead and he brushed it aside. Hopefully, his brothers hadn’t noticed his absence. Experience taught him that they rarely moved once they had fallen asleep – a result of long hours spent in manual labor. Still, it paid to be careful and he placed his body weight on the backs of his feet.

As he approached the house, he noticed that the bedroom window was slightly open. Why didn’t he shut it properly? He chided himself. The last thing he needed was for someone to realize he had left. It was all so close now…he didn’t want anything to stand in his way.

He slid back through the window, careful to shut it behind him. Standing in the darkness, he waited for his eyes to adjust and then scanned the room. The lifeless forms of his three brothers were strewn across the mattresses, resembling the slabs of igneous rocks they spent their days smashing.

No one stirred as he removed his sand-shoes and slipped into the bed beside his eldest brother. He exhaled and rested his head against the pillow. A lump pressed against his head and he reached behind to remove it. He fingers recognized the soft fabric that was his brother’s sock and he tossed it away from him. Disgusting. He closed his eyes, picturing a place where everything was smooth and clean.

The heat from the sunlight woke him from his deep dreams and he shuffled in the bed. His brothers would already be dressed and eating breakfast, ready to start their work day. If his plan didn’t work, he would be joining their rigid routine within a week. He shivered and kicked the blanket away from his legs. If he wasn’t downstairs soon, they would be wondering why he wasn’t awake.

He forced himself up and searched the cluttered room for his pants. He found them crumpled under the corner desk. It didn’t matter how many times he tried to lay them out neatly the night before – they inevitably ended up squashed into a ball. He pulled them up over his legs and attempted to straighten out the creases. Bunch of slobs, he complained to himself and headed for the kitchen.

His brothers were sitting at the dining table, eating breakfast with their father.

“Hey, look who decided to join us,” his middle brother, Jake threw an apple in his direction.

Brian ducked and the fruit soared past his head, bursting against the wall behind him.

“You were supposed to catch it, numb nuts.”

“Boys,” his mother looked up from the stove. “Let’s not start the day out like this.”

“Sure Mom,” Jake grabbed a meat patty and kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry.” He smiled at Brian and mouthed ‘pussy’ when their mother turned her attention back to the frying pan.

He walked over to the only empty spot at the large table and sat down.

“Nice catch,” his eldest brother, Micky, slapped him playfully on the back of the head.

“Maybe we should bring him out to the courts,” Jake joked.

“Yea, with those reflexes,” Billy, the youngest of the three, joined in, “You’d be a natural.”

His father looked up from his coffee. “Shouldn’t you boys get moving?”

The sound of laughter was replaced by forks being thrown onto plates and chairs scraping against the metallic floor. He watched as his brothers grabbed the silver bags filled with their lunches. One by one they muttered their goodbyes and headed out the door.

He  started to shovel the brown meat into his mouth. The synthetic steak tasted bitter and a bit like the plastic casing used to package it. Not that he knew what real meat tasted like; fears of earth based-diseases had caused the government to ban all animal imports before he was born. Micky remembered and assured him that the man-made product was a poor substitute. He didn’t care all that much, food was food. Besides, it was never a good idea to be the sole subject of his parents’ attention.  Better to eat as quickly as possible.

“Just one more week,” his father announced.

He gulped some coffee from a large mug.

“One more week til you join the family.” He smiled and Brian could see the wide gaps between his teeth.

His mother walked over to the table and slid a patty from the pan onto his plate. “You’ll be sixteen next week, Brian.” Her voice was soft.

He attacked the synthetic meat with his fork.

His father stood up and placed the plastic cup on the table. “Don’t be nervous son.” He reached across the table and patted Brian’s arm. “You’ll get used to it.” He stood up and rubbed his stomach. “All a part of growing up.”

He waited until the older man left the room and slowed his chewing.

His mother sat down on one of the chairs. “Honey,” she began. “I know this isn’t what you want. I…” She stared at him and softened her voice. “I wish it could be different.”

He speared the last of his food and placed it in his mouth.

“You know that I would change things if I could.”

He swallowed. “Better head out to school.”

“Brian –

He used his body to push the chair away from the table and stood up. “Thanks for the breakfast, Mom.”

“Brian-

The door slammed behind him.

The street that joined the mining village was filled with early morning activity. Familiar figures stomped out of their housing units and moved into their usual positions. Men with silver bags neatly tucked under their arms, called out to each other and walked in the center of the road.  He counted their steps in simple time; one, two, three, four…one, two, three, four…

Younger children clutched hand-held viewers and exchanged snippets of gossip and forgotten homework. They scurried along the edges of the path and jumped around in a haphazard manner. He had difficulty measuring their strides. His hands struggled to follow the staccato rhythm which could change at any given moment.

Because his birthday fell late in the year, he was one of the oldest boys to still attend the local school.  When a male child in the community turned 16, he was expected to end his studies and work full time in the mines. Each week, he watched as another one of his classmates moved to the center of the road and joined the men with the silver bags. He marveled at how quickly their buoyant steps were replaced by the predictable, droning march.

It wasn’t going to happen to him, though. He had a plan. He was never going to become a man with a silver bag.

He remembered the day his teacher, Mrs. Daniels asked his parents to come to a meeting. He sat outside of the classroom, his ear pressed against the closed door.

The voices were muffled but Brian’s ears were trained to distinguish individual sound from the whole and he was able to understand most of the conversation.

“Absolutely not,” his father announced. “Brian is a sixth generation miner. It’s in his blood.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Galvin,” Mrs. Daniels began, “Brian is a very gifted boy.  Most of his teachers agree that they’ve never seen a talent like his. Who knows what he could become?”

“I’ll tell you what he could become,” his father retorted. “He’ll become a miner, just like his father and his grandfather, and all the Galvins before him.”

“I don’t mean to question your traditions,”

His teacher, Mrs. Daniels had pleaded with his parents to allow him to continue his schooling, but his father refused. What good was music and schooling in the mines? He was a fifth generation miner, and Brian would be the sixth. Their family had been quarrying since the colonizers first arrived at Jefferson 7.

The large crowd that lined the city sidewalk pressed against the steel, police barricades.  Several officers, some on foot and others mounted on horses, paced up and down the streams of people, checking for stragglers who may have escaped from the clearly defined maze.

The air was heavy and warm which was not unusual for late summer in New York.  It was one of life’s great ironies – the weekend that marked the end of summer activities and a return to the drudgery of work and school was usually accompanied by gloriously, sunny weather.  Labor Day – the grand reminder that life was not a perpetual picnic.   Get off your ass and go back to work.

One of the mounted policemen grew tired of repeatedly circling the same route and decided to follow the line of people to its source.  He turned to one of the flatfoots, indicated with his head that he was leaving, and headed for the front of the line.

He let out a low whistle as he passed the scores of people.  The cue stretched from the entrance of the park right up to the Great Lawn.  Had to be a few miles at least.  All over some stupid, carney act.  He shook his head.  Why was a permit approved for something so ridiculous?  The whole thing was a New York Post expose waiting to happen.  He tried not to give it too much thought.   Let the boys at City Hall figure things out.  His job was crowd control and nothing more.

His eyes stung from the blaring sun and he lowered his sunglasses from on top of his head.  It made things a bit clearer as he scanned the long line of bodies which twisted and snaked along the grassy path. Up close, they looked like ordinary spectators – parents attempting to keep impatient children occupied, couples speaking in low, private hushes, and tourists trying to blend in, fearful of unwarranted attention. Further away, however, their individual forms disappeared and melted into one large, swelling mass.

He struggled to see what was at the head of the crowd. As he squinted his eyes, (he had to stop putting off that trip to the eye doctor), he was able to make out the faint outline of what seemed to be a large circus tent.  He nudged his horse and trotted towards it.

The sounds from the bulging throng seemed to change as he grew closer to the tent.  Back at the park’s entrance, their voices and body language reflected anger and impatience.  As he neared the center of attraction, he could feel their growing excitement .Almost there.  Just a few more minutes.

“Step right up folks, don’t be shy.”  A tall, gangly man dressed in white overalls was shouting through a megaphone from near the front of the line.  “Five bucks, that’s five measly dollars will get you a glimpse of one of the most unusual oddities of our time.”

He glanced over at the crowd and saw that some were anxiously searching their pockets while others proudly held the green notes in their hands. They waved them eagerly as if displaying their money would, somehow, get them in faster. He sped passed them, ignoring the obvious opportunities for pick-pocketing.

He finally slowed down about ten feet from the entrance of the tent and brought the mare to a halt, surprised at how nervous he was to approach any further.  He could stare down a crack addict holding a rusty knife with no problem, but this…well, this was something completely different.

An attractive, blond woman was standing at the front of the line, collecting the admission fees. Her partner, a small round man, was periodically lifting a velvet rope to give each spectator a turn.  “One at a time people, one at a time ,” he bellowed.  “Everybody gets two minutes inside. No more, no less.  Hey you!”  He yelled to a teenage boy who was trying to sneak out of the barricade.  “Back in line.” He shook his head in disapproval.  “Kids.”

The blond woman threw her head back and laughed, obviously used to her friend’s complaints. Her perfectly-coiffed hair bounced slightly as she shifted her eyes from the crowd. Suddenly noticing him on top of the horse, she looked up and met his gaze. “What about you officer?  Want a look?  No charge.” Her tone was flirtatious.

A fly buzzed unusually close to his ears and he self consciously waved it away, trying to decide if he should dismount.  The woman raised one eyebrow and tilted her head, waiting for an answer.  He looked behind him out of habit, careful to grab the reigns with his left hand. Standing up in the stirrups, he swung his right leg over the horse’s backside and dismounted.

As he walked towards her, the grass crackled beneath his heavy boots, the after-effects of an unusually dry summer.  His mind drifted to his own, meticulously maintained lawn and he pushed his shoulders back, confidently.

“Nice job,” she cooed as he approached her.

“Thanks,” he answered nonchalantly and handed her the reigns.

“What he fu-

He ignored the outburst and headed for the tent, once again pausing as it became closer.  The tall, gangly man was closer to him now, still hawking to the crowd. “Five bucks for a once in a lifetime experience, folks.”

He tried to urge himself forward, but hesitated.

“That’s right people,” the words roared beside him. “For a limited time only, you get to see a genuinely bona fide, U.S.A certified, one hundred percent guaranteed, absolutely genuine, flesh and blood, real life, smart person!”

Someone gasped from behind the velvet ropes and he could see that some of the spectators were beginning to push against each other , impatient to get to the front.

“Mama, what’s a smart person?”  He heard a little boy near him ask.

He looked over, instinctively.

“Well, honey,” she tilted her head to the side and stared vacantly at the trees in the distance.  “A smart person is someone who knows how to think and stuff.”  She looked down at her son to see if he understood.  It was clear from the expression on his face that he didn’t  “They, uh,” she struggled to find the right words.  “They know how to make decisions.” She nodded, happy with her choice.  “Know how to figure things out.”

The little boy seemed confused.

She thought for a moment and then offered, “They know how to do math, without a calculator.”

“Oh.” Her son’s eyes grew wide.  “Without a calculator?”  He was quiet, contemplating the information.  “But how?”

His mother shrugged her shoulders.  “Who knows?  That’s why they call them smart.”

He turned his head away from the mother and son and back towards the tent.  The conversation left him intrigued and he crooked his finger at the blond woman.

As he walked past the line of people, he could see the round man stopping the next person from walking up. Someone shouted, ‘That’s not fair!” He ignored it and kept walking.

He stopped when he reached the entrance to the tent and looked inside.  A youngish looking man of about 35 years of age was sitting in a big easy chair.  A large metal bar ran across the front of the tent and served as a barrier between him and the spectators.

He peered in curiously, trying to get a closer look.

“Hello.”  The young man greeted him from across the metal bar.

“Hi.”  He looked down self-consciously at his boots and began to make little swirls in the sandy floor.

“Did you want to say something?”  His clear voice reflected a mixture of resignation and amusement.

He looked up.  “So you’re the smart guy, huh?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“And you know how to figure things out?”

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

“What’s it like, being smart?”

He shrugged.  “Not sure what you mean by that.”

“Well,” He shoved his hands into his uniform pockets.  “What does a person like you do all day, you know for fun?”

The young man smiled faintly.  “Well, I read a lot…”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I think about things, wonder why the world is the way it is…”.

As interested as he was in what the young man was saying, he was finding it hard to pay attention.  Something was making him feel uncomfortable.  He shifted his weight onto his front legs and took his hands out of his pockets.  As he looked down at them, he noticed that his palms were sweating.  What was happening to him?

The young man noticed that something was wrong.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m, I’m not sure.”  He loosened the top button of his shirt and breathed in deeply, but the feeling persisted. To make matters worse, he was beginning to experience a sharp stinging in the center of his forehead, directly above his eyebrows. He scrunched his eyebrows, trying to ward off the  pain.  Could he be getting sick?

He was about to excuse himself and look for some Advil, when he found himself wanting to say something.  Suddenly, he realized what was happening.  He was having a thought!  Jesus F-ing Christ!  That’s what all the pain was about.  No wonder they had to lock these bastards away in some freak show.  They were too fucking dangerous.  “I uh…” he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“What?” The young man was becoming impatient.

“Well, I just had a thought.”  The word sounded strange as it formed itself on his tongue but he decided to continue anyway.  He had come this far.  “Since you are so smart and you think about stuff all day, what are you doing sitting here in some carney tent?  I mean, you could really help people, you know.  He pointed to the crowd of people waiting outside.  “Look at all of them,” his words became more cohesive as he continued.  “Think about how much you could do for them, you could teach them things, help them to think and make decisions.  You know?

The young man looked outside at the crowd that was waiting outside of the tent.  It looked like an enormous, headless serpent whose body intermittently  bulged and bloated as if having recently swallowed a prey of some kind.  He looked back at the man in front of him.  “I think your two minutes are up.”  His voice was cold and flat.

“But, I just got here.” He was surprised that he didn’t want to leave.

“Get out before I have you thrown out.”

“Calm down buddy,” his ears were becoming hot.  “No reason to get nasty.  I was just asking you a question.”  He paused and then slowly walked out of the tent, strangely embarrassed over the interaction.

As he headed for his horse he heard the young man calling out.

“Listen Eddie, from now on, they’re not allowed to talk.  You got that?”

The large crowd that lined the city sidewalk pressed against the steel, police barricades.  Several officers, some on foot and others mounted on horses paced up and down the streams of people, checking for stragglers who may have escaped from the clearly defined maze.

The air was heavy and warm which was not unusual for late summer in New York.  It was one of life’s great ironies – the weekend that marked the end of summer activities and a return to the drudgery of work and school was usually accompanied by gloriously, sunny weather.  Labor Day – the grand reminder that life was not a perpetual picnic.   Get off your ass and go back to work.

One of the mounted policemen grew tired of repeatedly circling the same route and decided to follow the line of people to its source.  He turned to one of the flatfoots, indicated with his head that he was leaving, and headed for the front of the line.

He let out a low whistle as he passed the scores of people.  The cue stretched from the entrance of the park right up to the Great Lawn.  Had to be a few miles at least.  All over some stupid, carney act.  He shook his head.  Why was a permit approved for something so stupid?  The whole thing was a New York Post expose waiting to happen.  He didn’t give it too much thought though.  Let the boys at City Hall figure it out.  His job was crowd control and nothing more.

He stared ahead, his eyes stinging from the hot sun.  He lowered his sunglasses from on top of his head and tried to find the center of the attraction.  There seemed to be a large, yellow and red tent at the neck of the long line.  He nudged his horse and headed for it.

His eyes stung from the blaring sun and he lowered his sunglasses from on top of his head.  It made things a bit clearer as he searched for the center of the attraction.  As he searched the general area, he finally recognized the faint outline of what seemed to be a large, circus tent.  He nudged his horse and headed in its direction.

The sounds from the crowd of people seemed to change as he grew closer.  Back at the park’s entrance, their voices and body language reflected anger and impatience.  As the tent grew closer, he could feel their growing excitement.

“Step right up folks, don’t be shy.”  A tall, gangly man dressed in white overalls was shouting through a megaphone from near the front of the tent.  “Five bucks, that’s five measly dollars will get you a glimpse of one of  the most unusual oddities of our time.”

(more…)

Sometimes, it helps to be given a prompt of some kind to springboard our writing. 

Writers, feel free to use it or not use the following prompt as inspiration for whichever genre you so choose:

“For a limited time only”

Good luck!