Date: Thu, 23 Oct 1997 07:38:16 MDT From: Robyn Meta Herrington Subject: SUB:CONTEST: A Warm Breath of Sunshine A Warm Breath of Sunshine Angela Foster was surrounded by boxes. Earlier in the morning, they had been neatly arranged in an orderly fashion, each one securely taped shut and stacked in neat rows and piles. Now, the living room was engulfed in chaos. Shreds of newspaper, cardboard flaps, and curly spirals of beige packing tape lay scattered across the carpet. Dried flowers sprouted from one carton; a hodgepodge of shoes spilled from another. And there was still no sign of the damn telephone! Brushing her bangs away from her eyes, Angela glanced at the spot on the wall where the clock used to be, then looked down at her watch: 4:47. "Where *are* they?" she asked out loud, fighting to keep the panic from flooding her mind. "They should've been here hours ago!" This was ridiculous. Her things should have been on the truck and well on their way by now. What could possibly be taking them so long? Her eyes traveled to the two screw holes in the plaster where the phone had once hung. She cursed herself yet again for ever having packed it away. What had she been thinking? It should have been one of the last things to go. She looked down at the cluttered floor in disgust. A lifetime's accumulation of belongings lay heaped around her, but the one damn thing she needed was nowhere to be found! With a violent motion, Angela pushed away the carton closest to her and, not bothering to reseal it, grabbed for another one and hastily tore it open. What if the movers had gotten the date screwed up? What if they had lost her address? What if they'd gone to the wrong building? What if they were trying to call her this very minute to ask for directions? And here she was without a fuckin' phone! "Calm down," she told herself. Her nerves were coming unraveled, fraying at the edges. She had to relax. They'd be there. They had to. She'd signed the agreement, paid the upfront fee. They'd be there. She looked at her watch again. 4:49. Their office would be closing at 5:00. Where *were* they? Uncurling her legs, Angela stood up, wincing as pins and needles tingled through her calves. She rubbed them vigorously for a few moments, waiting for the numbness to subside, before stumbling out of the small clearing she'd created. She went to the window and surveyed the street three stories below. She had hoped to see a moving van pulling up to the curb, or maybe a man in blue coveralls studying the building; but the scene remained much the same as she had left it some twenty minutes or so before. The rain had tapered down to a fine drizzle, swirling like wraiths above the sidewalk. Human figures hurried by, huddled against the winter chill, their warm breath forming filmy nebulas in the air. Their faces were gray -- blank -- as they scurried along like busy insects intent on performing their drone duties. Buses belched along the litter-strewn street. Cars hissed through piles of soot-smudged slush packed tightly against the curbs. And above it all, the rows of old buildings looked on bleakly, dismally, their windows like so many eyes watching the city as it churned laboriously below. Angela shivered unconsciously. So cold, she thought, so ugly. Her mind could see what her eyes could not. Four blocks east lay abandoned buildings clothed in splintering boards, housing the street people daring enough to venture within. Five blocks north, construction sites loomed ominously, concealing who-knew-what behind graffiti-besmirched fences. And, to the south, bug-infested garbage lined the streets in a neighborhood currently battling yet another trash collection strike. It was all more than she could take. Two years had been more than enough to convince her that the city was not for her. No job was worth living like this. The city wasn't going to swallow *her* up like it had gobbled up all those others down there. No way. *She* was getting out. "If those damn movers ever show up," she reminded herself with a groan. There was no way that she was going to spend even one more night in this god-forsaken place. Never again would she find herself flinching at every sound, hurrying past alleys and doorways. No longer would each new day force her to form new strategies: how to arm herself against muggers, how to plot the safest route to work, which eyes to meet and which to avoid... But having her purse snatched had been the final straw. One last, great violation. She had had to cancel her credit cards, apply for new ones, change her phone number, change her locks... Yet still she could never quite shake the feeling that someone out there now knew everything about her -- her name, her address, her friends, her doctors, where she worked, where she shopped, where she had her hair done... Frustration welled in her throat. Where were those fuckin' movers? Outside, the rain picked up again, whipping into a frenzied downpour. Angela knew what was happening. The city was conspiring against her, trying to keep her from leaving. The thought was crazy, she knew, yet it continued to replay itself in her mind nevertheless. 4:57 Perched on the rooftop of the building across the street, a colossal head suddenly came to life behind a series of well-positioned spotlights. For as long as she could remember, the billboard had always depicted the same advertisement, the same man's foppish, smiling face. It had once been an ad for some kind of beer or ale, but most of the lettering had long since flaked and peeled away. The worst thing about the picture wasn't the man's impossibly perfect face, or even his five foot grin. It was the background behind the giant face, still visible despite years of erosion. A forest scene that teased and taunted, beckoning euphorically to all who could see. Tall trees and leafy ferns served as a backdrop to fluttering butterflies and frolicking deer. Soft, velvety moss melted into a crystal brook. The scene was like a postcard punched directly into the sky, beautiful and inviting, yet always just out of reach. How many times had Angela sat before the window, staring at the sign, wishing she could feel that moss beneath her bare feet, that clear water licking at her toes? How many days had she longed to be able to look up into a sky that was blue and clean instead of the gray and murky haze that hung over the city in a shroud of smog that always left her skin feeling greasy? The crank calls had started shortly after her purse disappeared. And they continued even after she'd had her number changed. The profanity- spewing pervert, the heavy breather... But the worst was the silent one -- the one where she picked up the receiver and the line would be completely dead but the connection unbroken. Angela shuddered. How many times had she let the phone go unanswered simply because she couldn't bear to deal with another crankster? But now she was ready to bid all those bastards a hearty farewell. Never again would she flinch at the jangle of a telephone. Never again would she have to walk hesitantly down a darkened street, ears alert to any footfall behind her, eyes peering fearfully into shadows, seeking out all the threats she knew could be lurking there. The bums, the muggers, the rapists, the gangmembers... she was leaving them all behind. Let them destroy one another, she thought bitterly, let them devour and annihilate each other. She wasn't going to be a part of it anymore. Her car was ready and waiting at the curb below. She'd gotten it from the parking garage yesterday, filled it with gas and half a dozen maps, each more detailed than the next. Not that she really needed the maps; they were nothing more than a precaution. The route was indelibly stamped upon her brain. 5:00 Night was settling quickly. Dark shadows were beginning to drift into the apartment and settle into the farthest corners. Angela cast one final glance at the disarray of boxes lining the floor before turning her back on the mess, abandoning all notions of finding the missing phone. She'd have to find another way -- use another phone. She could seek out one of her neighbors for help. But the thought of approaching the other apartment dwellers made Angela grimace. In the two years since she'd moved in, she'd never gotten to know any of them. Aside from an occasional eyes-lowered nod of greeting, she'd never really interacted with any of them. In fact, they were still little more than strangers to her. And, truth be told, they frightened her a bit. She'd just have to use a public phone. There was one two blocks away in front of the convenience store. If it was working. If there wasn't some adolescent punk attached to its cord. If there wasn't a grim-faced gang of hoodlums loitering nearby. "God, listen to me!" Angela exclaimed, appalled. "I sound so hateful... so jaded." All the more reason to get out, she told herself. Before any more of the city's gangrene could seep into her blood. Frowning thoughtfully, she went to the window. It was almost completely dark now. Should she risk it on foot? Or take the car and brave the traffic for a measly two blocks? As she chewed her lip in contemplation, Angela's eyes picked up a familiar logo on a truck driving slowly past her building. The movers! They'd made it! They were here! They were... not stopping! "No!" she shouted. "Wait!" She fumbled with the window, trying to pry it open, then abandoned the hopeless task and surged toward the door instead, pausing only long enough to snatch her jacket from the knob on her way out into the hallway. No time for the elevator. She'd take the stairs. She *had* to catch them. *Had* to... She took the stairs two at a time. "Please wait," she whimpered, breathlessly. "Please wait..." She skidded around the last landing, ricocheted off the wall, and flew down the remaining steps. A steel door on her right announced "Fire Exit" in peeling red letters. She grabbed the knob and pushed. Nothing happened. She turned the knob again, shoving her shoulder against the door. It couldn't be locked, could it? It was never locked, was it? Still, nothing. Damn it! With a fierce lunge, she threw all her weight against the stubborn metal. The door groaned, protesting under the impact, then gave way with a loud boom. Finally! If she was lucky, the van might be stuck at the traffic light at the corner. Angela blinked. She was looking out into a darkened alley. Frigid air blastedher face and burrowed beneath her clothes. She pulled her coat tighter, wrapped the collar snugly around her neck, and stepped outside. Dark buildings loomed on either side of her, fire-escapes zigzagging down their sides like twisted, metal skeletons. Far above, the billboard stared across the city; though smaller from this angle, it seemed somehow brighter as well. At the alley's mouth, distant headlights and silhouettes flickered, then vanished. Angela started toward the exit at a quick pace. Though shimmering with faint diamonds of light, the ground was almost impossible to see. Black puddles abounded, nearly indiscernible from their blacker surroundings. Almost instantly, her foot slipped into one. She cursed as cold water and slush poured into her shoe, but she kept moving. She might still make it, she thought, increasing her speed. Up ahead, the street grew larger, brighter, the passers-by more distinct, assuming form. Only a few more feet... a few more feet... A huge puddle swelled up out of the darkness. Angela was forced to skirt around it as it nearly spanned the alley's width. She was forced to brush against the brick wall on her right to avoid it. Then the wall stepped out in front of her. Angela's first thought was that somebody had been leaning against the wall and was now trying to intercept her. Her second thought contained the realization that what she was actually seeing was impossible... It was the wall, but was not the wall. It held rather more of a humanoid form... a form that stretched out of the wall, surging and straining from somewhere on the opposite side as if the bricks and mortar were little more than one huge sheet of elastic. Bands of concrete encircled its form like a net, preventing the blocks which formed its body from tumbling out into the alley. Angela made to step backwards, but the figure seemed to anticipate the move. With a motion belying its density, it swiftly shot a brick arm forward to grab her wrist. Its touch was cold, coarse and gritty, abrading her skin like rough sandpaper. Angela screamed -- not a cry, but a roar that flooded her ears and threatened to tear her throat apart. She pummeled the figure's head with her free hand, smashing her nails and scraping away layers of skin from her fingers in the process. But it was to no avail. The creature's hold did not even falter. All around her, the alley was beginning to shift, to change... More figures were pushing their way out of the walls, stretching groping limbs toward her. From the darkened windows, flakes of paint unlatched their claws from the frameworks and came swarming at her like frenzied moths. The fire escapes were beginning to crawl down the buildings' sides like huge, mechanical centipedes, lifting and lowering heavy iron legs in unison. Angela stumbled backwards, as far as the brick arm holding her would allow. A maelstrom of thoughts whirled through her mind. None of this was happening -- none of it -- it couldn't -- just couldn't -- be happening. Suddenly, she felt herself falling, her feet slipping away from her. For a split second, she seemed to dangle in midair. Then the ground raced up to meet her from behind, slamming her in the back. Pinpoints of light flashed before her eyes as the air was forced from her lungs. The alley began to slip from her vision. Everything around her began melting into blackness. And with the approaching darkness, came the promise of peace... Then, with a sudden inhalation of breath, it all came rushing back with crystal clarity. The brick figure still towered over her, its hand on her arm. Angela struggled against its hold, trying desperately to break free, but the bricks only stretched forward, strengthening their hold on her. Her head ended up in a puddle. Cold water surged past her neck, carving an icy trail down her spine. She jerked to one side, pushing against the figure's legs with both feet. Her head sank deeper into the water. Chunks of ice bobbed against her ears. Icy rivers sloshed into her mouth. She gagged, retched, but continued to pull. Her entire face sank beneath the surface and she surged upward quickly, clutching onto the brick arm for support. Water streamed from her nose and mouth. She gasped and sputtered, sucking in air. *The puddle had no bottom.* The fact sledgehammered into her mind. Her head had not touched bottom! She was hanging over the edge of some type of fathomless abyss. And if not for the brick hand clasping hers... The tables had turned. Staring up at the brick figure, she shook her head in confusion, for she now saw that it was no longer holding onto her. Rather, *she* was now holding onto *it.* And, she wasn't about to let go. Not now. Not with God-knew-what waiting at the other end of the puddle beneath her. Tightening her grasp on the brick arm, Angela began trying to pull herself into an upright position. She found the figure's limb yielding -- much *too* yielding. It stretched and yawned like rubber, refusing to allow her to gain any ground in her struggle to free herself from the gaping black hole. High in the sky above her, she could see the billboard and its picture-perfect world -- a world that should have been hers. And, as she gazed up at the huge sign, the painted face upon it dropped its three-foot eyes to look down at her. Its countenance was blank, emotionless, save for its permanent, too-wide smile. Angela's fingers were growing numb; she could barely feel them anymore. But she couldn't give up, couldn't give up... She had to get out of here... had to find the movers... had to be on her way... to her new home... her new life... A clattering and crashing of metal sounded beside her head. A grilled fire-escape platform reared up on its neck of stairs, flicking a sinuous ladder tongue toward her face. Paint flakes landed on her cheeks and began crawling toward her eyes. *Oh God, please help me...* It was time. Time to let go. She unclasped her fingers. The puddle surged up around her, swallowing her in icy blackness. The alley and its denizens swirled out of sight as she tumbled slowly, head over heels, into the nothingness. Yet, still her eyes remained opened. Still, she could see. The alley was reduced to a dim, floating oval of light spiraling farther and farther away... **************************************************************************** Like a familiar caress, the first rays of dawn touched Angela's face. The city sprawled before her: an unending vastness of concrete, asphalt, and stone, of roof tops, chimneys, and soot-stained smokestacks. From her vantage point, she could see her old apartment below. No curtains hung in the windows; no plants adorned the sills. It stood empty. Vacant. All of her belongings had been removed long ago; and, for some reason, no new tenant had ever moved in. To her left, she could just make out the billboard with its smiling face and forest backdrop. Most of the picture was gone now, faded into obscurity, and what little remained was now dusted by a filthy, black residue. The verdant greens no longer quivered with life. The babbling brook had been reduced to nothing more than a trickle. It was incredible how many billboards hovered high above the city. The skyline was a veritable portrait gallery of giants, some old, some new, and all, like the roof tops and smokestacks, marching off endlessly into the distance. Out of the corner of her eye, Angela spotted a black shadow of soot glide to one of the smokestacks and wrap its wings around the dirt-encrusted pipe. She knew the creature would roost there, perfectly camouflaged, until nightfall when it would once again take flight over the city. However, it couldn't harm her now. Now all it could do was watch her -- as she watched it -- as she watched everything: the humanoid forms that slipped in and out of the walls and sidewalks and streets. Unlike the shadows or tiny paint moths who posed no real threat, the brick figures were the true kindred of the city. And, like the city, they existed only to consume. Only a few nights before, Angela had been forced to watch as three of them stretched out of the sidewalk just below her. The young boy they had targeted hadn't stood a chance. Within seconds, he was gone, dragged screaming into the fluid concrete. Where was he now? she wondered. She looked over at the building across form her, studying her own reflection in its dirty windows. Her hair, as always, was styled to perfection, glinting and shimmering brightly beneath the one-dimensional sun glowing brilliantly just above her head. Her cheeks, as usual, were flushed and rosy. Her mouth was stretched into a pleasing, white-toothed smile. She paused to read the mirrored phrase which ran backward across the panes in high, yellow letters, even though she had read it a thousand times before: WDTK - A WARM BREATH OF SUNSHINE. It used to make her want to scream, scream until the buildings shook and the windows shattered. But it hadn't taken her long to realize that the unseen painters had done their job well. The only sound that could escape her parted, glossed lips was, at most, a sigh. And sometimes, when she wanted to close her eyes and forget the city, just for a moment or two, she cursed those damn painters for, try as she might, she could not close her three-foot eyes. All she could do was stare. And stare... And stare... -- ---------------------------------*=*=*=*=*=*-------------------------------- Robyn Herrington,Editor rmherrin@acs.ucalgary.ca InfoServe www.ucalgary.ca/~rmherrin New Currents in Teaching and Technology Communications Media MacKimmie Library University of Calgary Ph: 220-3716 (temporary) == Inter tormentia latitia == ---------------------------------*=*=*=*=*=*--------------------------------