ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel
  • »
  • Books, Literature, and Writing»
  • Commercial & Creative Writing»
  • Creative Writing

Economically Liable: Chapter 2.

Updated on September 25, 2014

Chapter 2

The turnstiles at the station were a challenge, a barricade between being caged in one town and roaming free. Staff roamed themselves, patrolling the perimeter, sentries impeding movement, booths watchtowers, they just lack lights and slathering dogs, I thought, adrenaline playing an insane drum solo in my ears, heart forcing a cavalry stampeded in my chest. The dead money would easily cause these “people” to stand down, but where was the fun in that? “Value from cash comes from our quashed will to coerce the pulped trees back to life,” I muttered, nonchalant to the zombified commuters around me, anyone who speaks out is mad right? A decomposed corpse was unable to oxygenate a life and the masses knew it, “where else does the compulsion to spend spend spend come from?” Debating with myself was pointless though, one woman, too flustered to pull off her “power dressing” for the office, too overwhelmed by the rat race, cast a derisive glare over my haphazard state. I cast the glare right back over her haphazard life.

My stare breaks down the barriers. The wall blocking the right to traverse this nation of my birth at will. My feet move back and forth, I grin, past the stupidity, past the trained, ingrained rules imposed by society. I was the bull facing the matador, many spears had infiltrated my hide, though I was far from done yet! I put all my nervous energy, every ounce of pent up frustration and impotent fury at those turnstiles, waited for the moment when the two watchmen were at optimum distance, backs to me... and broke into a flat out run. Why was running so akin to flying? Moving fast through the air, the archetype of freedom... there was no room to run anymore. I vaulted the barrier, egged on by an invisible stadium of spongers, willing me on, I was the conduit for their collective will as I cleared the barrier perfectly sprinting off down the stairs and onto the platform without being spotted. Sometimes the underclass have victories, I thought with a smile as the train pulled away.

On the shuttle, away from here and eagerly seeking elsewhere, I lean back against a seat on the abandoned train full of self-satisfaction. Even the vague spectre of potential punishment at the hands of a possible ticket inspector failed to stifle my minute insurrection. The growing speed of the train rocked me back and forth, congratulating me on my attempt at freedom, cradling me against what lay ahead. It almost lulled me into a sleep, but I wanted to see now I was out and free, the open country opened up, inviting me to join in with it. The open space was intoxicating, I got a head rush looking at it, all the openness, the myriad possibilities, the door to my cage was hanging open, rusting on the hinges, waiting for the inexorable pull of gravity to wrench it off. It was a beginning, opportunity knocked, threatened to kick my door down! I had nothing, but I had nothing to lose! I was moving through reality itself, on the express line from one existence to the other, I felt my natural impulses beginning to return. I was lulled into a sleep to deal with the transition, the last conscious thought was overwhelming excitement...

© Brad James, 2014.


    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    No comments yet.