[con]Mediocrity
Posted: Mon Nov 11, 2002 5:13 am
Part 1 of 3-Will be edited soon.
The wick. Symbolizes the stem from which the spark of life catches. The fire starts. As the flame moves up the wick, time runs out for both the wick and the flame. In the end, a burnt out shell and smoke remain.
"Holy God!" Screamed Mark as he stepped on a broken glass shard. "GOD...AH!!" Mark pulled it out. "Damn, how the hell did all of this glass get here?" It was dawn. The first sights of the sun. The awakening. Whatever you call it, it was happening. And in Mark's opinion, it was happening too soon. The shack was big for a shack in that part of the wasteland(Southern California). But it was falling apart. Only the roof didn't have a hole on it, and that was because he had just built a new roof the month before. The one room that made up the shack's inside was a mess. Papers, cloth, and numerous other things were strewn about the floor, almost as if they were thrown there on purpose. Mark was at the doorway. It was early November, and in the wasteland November was cold. VERY cold. Mark was wearing a leather jacket, faded jeans and a scarf to bed just to stay warm. It was an effort, but it served its purpose.
Mark yawned, then sat down again. It was Friday, and he had little to do at the time. "Damnit. Always bored" said Mark as he turned on the T.V. Yes, there is a T.V station in the wasteland. It shows all of the shows that were ever recorded. Those shows were stored on a Mainframe computer in the heart of the Brotherhood of Steel's Lambda bunker. Mark thought it was the best thing that existed in the wasteland. It was Six On the Clock, and it was bright by then. Mark yawned again, got up and walked across the room(avoided many pieces of rubble along the way) over to a satchel. He opened it, looked around, then put it on his back. "Another friggin day in the Wasteland. Whoopdee Fuckin' Doo". Mark punched the door open, kneeled down, shut the door, then tinkered with some device that was attached to a kerb near his shack. Finally, he shut the door, looked at it and started walking North, towards what looked like the town centre. It was 6:03 A:M, and Mark Allen Tyrade was B>O>R>E>D.
Even walking through the remains of a ruined city didn't make Mark any more interested in his job, or the path that led to his job. He DESPISED his job, only because he couldn't find another one. He was............A Janitor. At the T.V Station. WFD.
As he walked down the deserted and ruined street, Mark whistled the "Tiger".
The wick. Symbolizes the stem from which the spark of life catches. The fire starts. As the flame moves up the wick, time runs out for both the wick and the flame. In the end, a burnt out shell and smoke remain.
"Holy God!" Screamed Mark as he stepped on a broken glass shard. "GOD...AH!!" Mark pulled it out. "Damn, how the hell did all of this glass get here?" It was dawn. The first sights of the sun. The awakening. Whatever you call it, it was happening. And in Mark's opinion, it was happening too soon. The shack was big for a shack in that part of the wasteland(Southern California). But it was falling apart. Only the roof didn't have a hole on it, and that was because he had just built a new roof the month before. The one room that made up the shack's inside was a mess. Papers, cloth, and numerous other things were strewn about the floor, almost as if they were thrown there on purpose. Mark was at the doorway. It was early November, and in the wasteland November was cold. VERY cold. Mark was wearing a leather jacket, faded jeans and a scarf to bed just to stay warm. It was an effort, but it served its purpose.
Mark yawned, then sat down again. It was Friday, and he had little to do at the time. "Damnit. Always bored" said Mark as he turned on the T.V. Yes, there is a T.V station in the wasteland. It shows all of the shows that were ever recorded. Those shows were stored on a Mainframe computer in the heart of the Brotherhood of Steel's Lambda bunker. Mark thought it was the best thing that existed in the wasteland. It was Six On the Clock, and it was bright by then. Mark yawned again, got up and walked across the room(avoided many pieces of rubble along the way) over to a satchel. He opened it, looked around, then put it on his back. "Another friggin day in the Wasteland. Whoopdee Fuckin' Doo". Mark punched the door open, kneeled down, shut the door, then tinkered with some device that was attached to a kerb near his shack. Finally, he shut the door, looked at it and started walking North, towards what looked like the town centre. It was 6:03 A:M, and Mark Allen Tyrade was B>O>R>E>D.
Even walking through the remains of a ruined city didn't make Mark any more interested in his job, or the path that led to his job. He DESPISED his job, only because he couldn't find another one. He was............A Janitor. At the T.V Station. WFD.
As he walked down the deserted and ruined street, Mark whistled the "Tiger".