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- Viertel vor acht morgens
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| Viertel vor acht morgens | |
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| Topic Started: Mar 15 2008, 08:09 PM (56 Views) | |
| DBI.ZnT | Mar 15 2008, 08:09 PM Post #1 |
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-REPOST FROM MY LJ- Completely unedited crap. So beware of cheezyness, stereotypes, and general lack of sense. Copyright me.  It's was a challenge for www.fiction-net.org Here goes. ---------------------------------- Viertel vor 8 morgens "In the future everybody will be anonymous for 15 minutes" It was still slightly dark outside, the neon glow of the city reflected in the clouds, flaring its pink lights like a piece of charcoal. The light's pattern coincided with the pulsing buzz that can be heard. The familiar mix filled the air, along with other occasional heterogeneous elements the city spit out. It was almost tangible, a soft piece of pink rubber, enveloping the entire metropolis in it, if not the entire area where it was located. The noises and lights have been going on for centuries and centuries, nobody ever thought of finding a solution to suppress it. Everybody seemed to have grown accustomed to the white noise, the pink neon. Their brains seemed to have learned screening them out. Even then, when one had the occasion to pause one instant, the gleaming and screaming aggression would become overwhelming. That is why no one dared to stop. It was a fast-paced city by day, precise like an atomic clock. Then all activity would disappear at 3 AM, to resume 5 hours later. During the dead hours, the streets were no-man's-land. No living being would be awake by then. Slumber, when it was not work, was their only escape to the aggression of the pink, neon advertisement panels and to the power generator's eternal grumbling. Every meter cube was filled with the pink mixture, without exception. The light panels were everywhere, on the street, in houses, in hospitals, hanging over the beds, plastered on walls, floors. They tortured the spirit with customized images of desirable things, luring the unconscious to go out there, work to be able to buy the object of their lust. Once acquired, the cycle started again. The monotone sound waves passed through bricks and walls as easily as electrons in superconducting materials. It was a symbol of constancy, of infallibility of the system. Without the system, everything would fall apart. No desire, no work. No work, nothing to consume. No consumption, no desire. And so on. It was 7:54 AM when Daniel woke up in his comfortable bed. He felt more lucid than any past moment in his entire life. All was astonishingly precise, clear and acute. Everything he set his eyes on had this glaring pink glow, one that he couldn't really see before. The buzzing of the generator became more powerful, and at each vibration he could sense his body moving with the sinuous line. Lying on his bed, he contemplated this moment. It had a feeling of triumph, even if it was insultingly real and near, and virtually raping his overly accurate senses. He kept still, even if he knows that in 16 minutes, the day will begin. He will have to go to work. But he did not move. Looking up, he saw this familiar figure on the wall. It was one of many ads, but always the same person, the same expression of feigned beatitude; the same pale skin, the same red hair, the same blue eyes, as desirable as diamonds. "Advertisements are the mirror of the soul", specialists said. Indeed, when personal interests was part of the census, when the census were verified to be true and sold by the government to advertising agencies, analyzed and used for marketing purposes. Everyone was exposed to specifically targeted ads, designed for them, exploiting their needs. One can know personality though the ads displayed at their house. The ads that targeted Daniel were all the same. While the products differed, the frontman was the same. From clothing to food, from car to cooking devices, always the same, famous person who is the money tree of advertising industry. Young, handsome, cheerful, cooperative, always wanting to lend his face to a neon sign, a short movie. Of course, he was paid well, in both money and power, to one condition: that he continues to work for the advertising agencies till the end of his life. Daniel often asked himself what they will do with this poster-boy when he will be old. His aging was the advertisers' worst fear, and they tried to prevent it as much as it could because the young man was one effective seller. Since his coming into the industry, the general income rose to an unequaled extent. Basically, he was running the machine. Consumers cannot get enough of his beauty, of his youth, of his innocence. The more fame, the less time he had for himself. Only between 3 and 8 he could rest, then, past that period, it is posing time again. His days were composed of endless hours of flash, smiling, handshakes, half-hearted thanks, screaming fans, then five hours of silence, an escape from the pulses of the day. Daniel figured that the star was relatively lucky, because he does not have to fight the ads' invasion. He would only see his own image and not a complete stranger that everybody seemed to know. Without the pink neon lights, the buzzing pulses of power generators were less annoying, as a ranting faceless mouth would be. Being famous also implied that all his acts were recorded. Either he behaved, or there will be a scandal. He chose the first, and did nothing to attract the attention of reporters, lurking around trying to get a piece of him. Daniel often laughed at the idea of the greatest star of his time living as piously as a monk in his monastery. It does not fit with his status. He should be lavishly spending his money, profiting of his poplularity and of his wealth. He deserves it, because he was selling himself all over the place, sparing all other aspiring stars of his own experience. It was painful, showing only what the advertisers wanted him to show, and having no anonymity at all. Everytime he went out on the streets, it was a major event. Now he doesn't do it anymore. He is now exclusive to the world of marketing, show-biz and hypocrisy. One minute passed. Daniel did not move, and was still staring at the ad panel over his bed. It was like a giant hanging mirror, only with a reflection that was not his. The overexcitement of his senses have faded, everything became as before, pink and noisy. But they then became a dull pink, and a muffled sound. And silence. He could not then hear a thing, nor see the colors of the city reflected in the clouds. The extinguished ad panel over his bed became a mirror, a glistering dark surface, projecting only light that has been reflected. The pulsing of power generators also ceased, everything settled down in a uneasy silence. He knew it was a power surge. The neon ads ended up using more electricity that the city could produce. Everything was shut down, data was lost, lives too. There will be chaos and mayhem when everything would start at 8. But at least, it will be 15 minutes of silence, of purity, of unspoiled innocence. It will 15 minutes without seeing and without being seen. Daniel was happy to have 15 minutes of anonymity. ---------------------------- It's unedited. So yeah, never mind the mistakes. -__- |
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