TITLE: "Skyline"
AUTHOR: Anthony J Fuchs
SUMMARY: Max-POV.
RATING: PG13
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There was always something about this desicated skyline that gave me comfort.
Maybe it's the perpetual darkness that enshrouds the city and mirrors my own isolation. Maybe it's the simplicity of the life we lead, like we wandered into town and found this place, set up shop in the ruined remnants of this former glory. Or maybe it's the idea that no matter what kind of shit goes on down there, it's still only one piece of a larger whole. That whatever petty squables or daily annoyances or minor inconviences I have to endure, it's only a mere shadow of the bigger picture.
It takes a perspective like this to gain that kind of insight. To see, visually, in front of your face, that the world you live in is really only as wide as the lense of an Instamatic. It's sanctifying to know that all the stress and all the pressure and all the fear only exists inside the walls of that world. That it's not really as big or as daunting as you thought.
It's a different world from up here. On the inside, it's car horns and street lights and deadlines. But on the outside, it's crumbling buildings and blinking lights and a whole lot of nothing pretending that it wants to be something. It's a comatose world, dry and stale on the surface, with a few pulses of life hiding in the corners of its brain.
I'm an important person. I'm a bike messenger. Before the Pulse, it was atheletes and musicians and actors who got the fame. I found a really old magazine from the 1990's the other day with an article about some guy named Bill Gates. A guy so rich he owned his own island, who created most of the technology that made computers work.
No one ever realized it or admitted it if they did, but it was this guy's fault that their world had gone to hell. It was his fault that every single person, from Wall Street to kindergarten, was plugged in. It was his fault that handwriting and paper money and the Post Office had become obsolete. See, nobody cares if you can hit a homerun or play a guitar or remember dialogue anymore. It's the people you rely on to get you to tomorrow that are really important now.
There are still people out there trying to make a different, trying to do the world some altruistic favor and create a better life. Logan thinks he's one of them, hacking through the system to expose its flaws and defects. Pointing out the problems for someone else to fix. But he's not.
His problem is, he's aiming too high. Now Vogelsang, he's helping. He's got his eyes on the right goal. Finding lost dogs. Reuniting families. Making *this* world easier to live in, instead of trying to change it. Back to the monolithic monostrosity it used to be or into the fanciful utopia some dream it should be.
He's not looking up from the street at the big tall buildings, trying to figure out how to reach the sky. He's keeping it simple, being realistic; he's looking down at the skyline.
END.
AUTHOR: Anthony J Fuchs
SUMMARY: Max-POV.
RATING: PG13
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
There was always something about this desicated skyline that gave me comfort.
Maybe it's the perpetual darkness that enshrouds the city and mirrors my own isolation. Maybe it's the simplicity of the life we lead, like we wandered into town and found this place, set up shop in the ruined remnants of this former glory. Or maybe it's the idea that no matter what kind of shit goes on down there, it's still only one piece of a larger whole. That whatever petty squables or daily annoyances or minor inconviences I have to endure, it's only a mere shadow of the bigger picture.
It takes a perspective like this to gain that kind of insight. To see, visually, in front of your face, that the world you live in is really only as wide as the lense of an Instamatic. It's sanctifying to know that all the stress and all the pressure and all the fear only exists inside the walls of that world. That it's not really as big or as daunting as you thought.
It's a different world from up here. On the inside, it's car horns and street lights and deadlines. But on the outside, it's crumbling buildings and blinking lights and a whole lot of nothing pretending that it wants to be something. It's a comatose world, dry and stale on the surface, with a few pulses of life hiding in the corners of its brain.
I'm an important person. I'm a bike messenger. Before the Pulse, it was atheletes and musicians and actors who got the fame. I found a really old magazine from the 1990's the other day with an article about some guy named Bill Gates. A guy so rich he owned his own island, who created most of the technology that made computers work.
No one ever realized it or admitted it if they did, but it was this guy's fault that their world had gone to hell. It was his fault that every single person, from Wall Street to kindergarten, was plugged in. It was his fault that handwriting and paper money and the Post Office had become obsolete. See, nobody cares if you can hit a homerun or play a guitar or remember dialogue anymore. It's the people you rely on to get you to tomorrow that are really important now.
There are still people out there trying to make a different, trying to do the world some altruistic favor and create a better life. Logan thinks he's one of them, hacking through the system to expose its flaws and defects. Pointing out the problems for someone else to fix. But he's not.
His problem is, he's aiming too high. Now Vogelsang, he's helping. He's got his eyes on the right goal. Finding lost dogs. Reuniting families. Making *this* world easier to live in, instead of trying to change it. Back to the monolithic monostrosity it used to be or into the fanciful utopia some dream it should be.
He's not looking up from the street at the big tall buildings, trying to figure out how to reach the sky. He's keeping it simple, being realistic; he's looking down at the skyline.
END.