Death
**********************************************************************
He stood on precipice of a pedestrian bridge that stretched across
train line no. 13. Thin body clothed in a business suit. White
collared shirt unbuttoned and flapping in the wind, the jacket
abandoned at the foot of the bridge, an unneeded burden discarded.
He laughed at the howling wind which caressed him. Laughed at the
world around him. Laughed at the body which housed him. All of them
were like the jacket, unneeded weight...
He had discarded his job like he did his jacket, an unthinkable action
in a nation obsessed with the salaryman concept. It wasn't that his
company was disappointed in him. Rather it was that he was
disappointed in his company.
They did not recognize his vision. He had seen what the future would
be. He was the prophet heralding a new world! Yet they did not listen
to him, so frighten were they by the thought of anything that might
endanger their monopoly. Let them do what they wish. What does it
matter? Tachibana does not matter. The real world does not matter.
Only the Wired matters...
"I am Eiri Masami!", he yelled into the wind, "All else is
irrelevant!"
He stretched his arms out and stood with arms outstretched, head held
high, looking up towards the information filled heavens... It was as
if he could see it, the bits and bytes of data streaming in countless
fluctuations across the sky. 01010101011. The ravens of Tokyo circled
around him, settling along the length of his arm... blotches of black
against his white shirt.
A low horn of a train sounded. He shifted his view to encompass the
train line. He watched the 9.30 train draw nearer and nearer, faster
and faster.
He jumped...
And as he fell all seemed clear to him. Each sound that was to be
heard was crystal clear. It was beautiful. A symphony from a cacophony
of sound. He heard them all...
The whistling currents of digitally filled air...
The distant honking of computerized cars...
The forlorn cry of a young babe strapped to a breathing machine...
The beep of an ATM...
The flutter of a million wings as the flock of ravens took flight...
The dull thud of a body...
The screech of a train...
**********************************************************************
by melange
melange@nervhq.org
infanity.net/lain
**********************************************************************
He stood on precipice of a pedestrian bridge that stretched across
train line no. 13. Thin body clothed in a business suit. White
collared shirt unbuttoned and flapping in the wind, the jacket
abandoned at the foot of the bridge, an unneeded burden discarded.
He laughed at the howling wind which caressed him. Laughed at the
world around him. Laughed at the body which housed him. All of them
were like the jacket, unneeded weight...
He had discarded his job like he did his jacket, an unthinkable action
in a nation obsessed with the salaryman concept. It wasn't that his
company was disappointed in him. Rather it was that he was
disappointed in his company.
They did not recognize his vision. He had seen what the future would
be. He was the prophet heralding a new world! Yet they did not listen
to him, so frighten were they by the thought of anything that might
endanger their monopoly. Let them do what they wish. What does it
matter? Tachibana does not matter. The real world does not matter.
Only the Wired matters...
"I am Eiri Masami!", he yelled into the wind, "All else is
irrelevant!"
He stretched his arms out and stood with arms outstretched, head held
high, looking up towards the information filled heavens... It was as
if he could see it, the bits and bytes of data streaming in countless
fluctuations across the sky. 01010101011. The ravens of Tokyo circled
around him, settling along the length of his arm... blotches of black
against his white shirt.
A low horn of a train sounded. He shifted his view to encompass the
train line. He watched the 9.30 train draw nearer and nearer, faster
and faster.
He jumped...
And as he fell all seemed clear to him. Each sound that was to be
heard was crystal clear. It was beautiful. A symphony from a cacophony
of sound. He heard them all...
The whistling currents of digitally filled air...
The distant honking of computerized cars...
The forlorn cry of a young babe strapped to a breathing machine...
The beep of an ATM...
The flutter of a million wings as the flock of ravens took flight...
The dull thud of a body...
The screech of a train...
**********************************************************************
by melange
melange@nervhq.org
infanity.net/lain