Perception - Nubblies.net Forums

Schroeder · 11-21-2003, 10:31 PM

Remember way back when we had the Nubblies short story contest? Yeah, I never submitted an entry but I had a story. Read it and comment if you want.

-------------------------------------
Perception

Time was not his friend. Time was always moving forward. It never stopped. It never gave him the chance to fix his mistakes. Time never gave him the chance to atone for his sins. Time had given him so many memories, and yet made him forget the good ones. One of the very few good memories he had left was of the plaque he had in his room as a child. It contained a simple prayer, but it helped to keep him going, even in the worst times. It went like this:

God grant me
the serenity to accept
the things I cannot change,
courage
to change the things I can,
and wisdom always
to tell the
difference.

Time had taken most of his good memories like a thief takes candy from a baby. Oh well.

Regardless of all this, he had accepted time. He had to. Everyone had to. Time had shaped him into what he was: A man who had been chewed up and spit out by the world, like so much rancid meat. And the metaphor didn’t stop there. He was like a steel rail: Just as thin, just as rigid, and just as cold. You wouldn’t have known there was life in him at all except for his eyes. They were sad eyes, like those of a man who’s whole life had been one rained-on picnic. There might have been something else in his eyes, something deep down, but there probably wasn’t. He wasn’t ashamed of his appearance.

The serenity to accept the things I cannot change

Most people would say the world doesn’t need steel rail people. Others would say that the world takes all kinds of people. And it does.

He was walking down the sidewalk. Dressed in a black trench coat, he was like a shadow scampering through the night. He thought that his walk was strangely lonesome. If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed that people were avoiding him. They were smart to avoid him. He was scary. If the rail would have noticed, he would have wondered why the people saw him as scary. But he wasn’t going to notice. His mind was somewhere else. Isn’t everybody’s?

He had gotten a new job. He was on his way there. He moved on, and time did, also, until eventually he reached the house. It was a large house. Some might have called it a mansion, but it was certainly not a church. Every dollar, peso, mark, franc, or whatever that went into that house had been made illegally. The owner of this mansion was named Diego Castellano. Diego had been stealing candy from babies his whole life.
The world was better off without him.

The rail walked into the house. He stepped into a large room with chandeliers and statues and other items that were not judged by their value or worth, but by their price tags. Diego had thrown some great parties here, where he had invited all his scumbag friends and they had had a good time. Diego’s scumbag friends had all gotten filthy rich off of other peoples’ misery and suffering. The world takes that kind of people, too.

The rail proceeded down a long hallway, came to an enormous wooden door, and opened it. Diego’s office was in there. Diego was sitting at his desk, filling out an order form for a 24 karat gold bathtub. How extravagant!

Diego looked up. “Who the hell are you?” “I am a man who keeps with time,” the rail said, “and your time is up.” The rails speech was a bit contrived, but that was okay. The rail pulled out a gun and pulled the trigger. This, in turn, caused a hard piece of metal called a bullet to be ejected from the barrel. The bullet hit Diego. Somewhere far off, a dove cried and a crow cawed and an angel got its wings and the cow jumped over the moon. Not really. Diego slumped in his chair. The world was a better place. Diego was dead. So it goes.

Courage to change the things I can

He went back to the source of his job and got his money. Time, inevitably, will produce people who are willing to spend lots of money to have other people killed. The world takes that kind of people, too. That rail was not ashamed of his morals; he had done what he thought he needed to do to get by. He figured the amount of money he received was worth more than his morals.

He proceeded back into the night and became the shadow again. People still avoided him, and he wondered why. Time kept moving, and so did he. At one point, he entered a building and later came back out with a rather heavy bag. What was in the bag? Who knows? Probably something evil.

Time passed on, ticking and tocking, sometimes even cuckooing, until the morning came. The rail came out of his house, still in the black trench coat, with the bag in his hands. In the daytime, the trench coat didn’t make him seem like a shadow. He seemed more like a stain, a blotch against the beautiful midday sun. The rail scampered all the way until he reached another building, but not the same building as the night before. It was probably just another sinful place, a place to pick up a new job, or some other den of evil. He looked up at the sign, smiled, and walked in.

“I’m here”, he said in a gruff tone. “Yeah!” came a happy reply from a different room. Like a swarm, children descended on him from all sided. They hugged him and loved him like only children could. “Who’s hungry?” he said, and opened the bag to reveal groceries. Nothing evil, just food. They all sat down and ate.

These children were doing their best to continue in time. Time, in its unrelenting march, had stopped too soon for most of their parents. He took care of them. The orphans could see that something deep down, that no one else could. The orphans finally gave the rail some good memories, ones he could remember. He knew he was only one man, and that he could not do everything. He could do something, though, and that was helping those children.

and wisdom always to tell the difference

Time eventually stops for everyone. The rail had accepted that. He knew time would eventually stop on him. That same time that gave him memories and took them away would eventually stop his march. But if he could get those children to have good memories and thoughts about him, than he had exceeded time’s grasp. If he could be remembered as a good person, that would be the greatest prize of them all. And time could not stop him. He had found a loophole.

11-21-2003, 10:31 PM	#1 (permalink)
Schroeder Unwanted Join Date: Aug 2003 Posts: 1,543 Internets: -885	Remember way back when we had the Nubblies short story contest? Yeah, I never submitted an entry but I had a story. Read it and comment if you want. ------------------------------------- Perception Time was not his friend. Time was always moving forward. It never stopped. It never gave him the chance to fix his mistakes. Time never gave him the chance to atone for his sins. Time had given him so many memories, and yet made him forget the good ones. One of the very few good memories he had left was of the plaque he had in his room as a child. It contained a simple prayer, but it helped to keep him going, even in the worst times. It went like this: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom always to tell the difference. Time had taken most of his good memories like a thief takes candy from a baby. Oh well. Regardless of all this, he had accepted time. He had to. Everyone had to. Time had shaped him into what he was: A man who had been chewed up and spit out by the world, like so much rancid meat. And the metaphor didn’t stop there. He was like a steel rail: Just as thin, just as rigid, and just as cold. You wouldn’t have known there was life in him at all except for his eyes. They were sad eyes, like those of a man who’s whole life had been one rained-on picnic. There might have been something else in his eyes, something deep down, but there probably wasn’t. He wasn’t ashamed of his appearance. The serenity to accept the things I cannot change Most people would say the world doesn’t need steel rail people. Others would say that the world takes all kinds of people. And it does. He was walking down the sidewalk. Dressed in a black trench coat, he was like a shadow scampering through the night. He thought that his walk was strangely lonesome. If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed that people were avoiding him. They were smart to avoid him. He was scary. If the rail would have noticed, he would have wondered why the people saw him as scary. But he wasn’t going to notice. His mind was somewhere else. Isn’t everybody’s? He had gotten a new job. He was on his way there. He moved on, and time did, also, until eventually he reached the house. It was a large house. Some might have called it a mansion, but it was certainly not a church. Every dollar, peso, mark, franc, or whatever that went into that house had been made illegally. The owner of this mansion was named Diego Castellano. Diego had been stealing candy from babies his whole life. The world was better off without him. The rail walked into the house. He stepped into a large room with chandeliers and statues and other items that were not judged by their value or worth, but by their price tags. Diego had thrown some great parties here, where he had invited all his scumbag friends and they had had a good time. Diego’s scumbag friends had all gotten filthy rich off of other peoples’ misery and suffering. The world takes that kind of people, too. The rail proceeded down a long hallway, came to an enormous wooden door, and opened it. Diego’s office was in there. Diego was sitting at his desk, filling out an order form for a 24 karat gold bathtub. How extravagant! Diego looked up. “Who the hell are you?” “I am a man who keeps with time,” the rail said, “and your time is up.” The rails speech was a bit contrived, but that was okay. The rail pulled out a gun and pulled the trigger. This, in turn, caused a hard piece of metal called a bullet to be ejected from the barrel. The bullet hit Diego. Somewhere far off, a dove cried and a crow cawed and an angel got its wings and the cow jumped over the moon. Not really. Diego slumped in his chair. The world was a better place. Diego was dead. So it goes. Courage to change the things I can He went back to the source of his job and got his money. Time, inevitably, will produce people who are willing to spend lots of money to have other people killed. The world takes that kind of people, too. That rail was not ashamed of his morals; he had done what he thought he needed to do to get by. He figured the amount of money he received was worth more than his morals. He proceeded back into the night and became the shadow again. People still avoided him, and he wondered why. Time kept moving, and so did he. At one point, he entered a building and later came back out with a rather heavy bag. What was in the bag? Who knows? Probably something evil. Time passed on, ticking and tocking, sometimes even cuckooing, until the morning came. The rail came out of his house, still in the black trench coat, with the bag in his hands. In the daytime, the trench coat didn’t make him seem like a shadow. He seemed more like a stain, a blotch against the beautiful midday sun. The rail scampered all the way until he reached another building, but not the same building as the night before. It was probably just another sinful place, a place to pick up a new job, or some other den of evil. He looked up at the sign, smiled, and walked in. “I’m here”, he said in a gruff tone. “Yeah!” came a happy reply from a different room. Like a swarm, children descended on him from all sided. They hugged him and loved him like only children could. “Who’s hungry?” he said, and opened the bag to reveal groceries. Nothing evil, just food. They all sat down and ate. These children were doing their best to continue in time. Time, in its unrelenting march, had stopped too soon for most of their parents. He took care of them. The orphans could see that something deep down, that no one else could. The orphans finally gave the rail some good memories, ones he could remember. He knew he was only one man, and that he could not do everything. He could do something, though, and that was helping those children. and wisdom always to tell the difference Time eventually stops for everyone. The rail had accepted that. He knew time would eventually stop on him. That same time that gave him memories and took them away would eventually stop his march. But if he could get those children to have good memories and thoughts about him, than he had exceeded time’s grasp. If he could be remembered as a good person, that would be the greatest prize of them all. And time could not stop him. He had found a loophole.