DESCRIPTION
A man trapped between two great fears of the unknown, one which he has left behind and one which must face or eventually die... [916 words]
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Truly one of the world sexiest aspiring 17 year old writers from Britain who now lives in Canada. Southern Ontario to be a little more specific. Chaos and logic both work in his mind simultaneously to create some fine work and some seemingly random thoughts put on a page. He aspires to work in the field of Marketing to live and writting to keep his mind alive though the dream is to write the next "Seinfeld". Can often be found in the chat room at www.writerswrite.net. [October1999]
Transition Oliver Thomas Coles Brackenbury
John decided to check his watch. It read six AM, then again it always read six AM. Like most electronic things John owned it was broken. John noticed the small amount of light around the edges of the airlock's door and guessed that another day had rolled by. For about three days now he had been trying to gather up the courage to go outside, afraid not so much of what he might find but what he might not find.
John reflected how, after his first hour in the airlock, he had decided to seal the other door which led back in with a pocket welder that he had on him before his bravado ran out. He'd managed to weld shut the left side of the door before he broke down and tried to get the door to open. He'd pried, he'd cried and he'd done everything else he could think of but he couldn't get the door to open. Like his watch, the welder had broken and was basically useless now.
All he had to prepare him for the outside was a simple guidebook with a few photographs wedged between the pages. Hoping that maybe they held the courage he needed, John reached deep into his brown leather jackets breast pocket and pulled them out. There were only three photos and they weren't much use. One hadn't even been taken properly and was nothing but a blurry image of the sun. Another picture was of the right side of a yellow New York taxi . Or at least John figured it was a New York taxi since those words were written along the side in between two black lines. John began to wish he knew what 'New York' or 'taxi' meant.
The third picture was John's favorite. Everything about it was perfect. No glare, perfect focus, no stains, no dogears or anything. But the quality wasn't all that John admired. It was a picture of an eight year old boy asleep in his bed. Starlight shone in from a window above him and down across his bed sheets. The boy was smiling slightly as if in the middle of a wonderful dream. He was clearly comfortable and warm as only his head poked out from under his sheets. The boy seemed either unafraid of or oblivious to all the dangers and troubles of life. John hoped that one day he could know that kind of security John put the photos back in his pocket and decided to look about his surroundings. The airlock was about two and a half meters high with only one meter squared of floor space. The walls were all stainless steel and the only protrusion, aside from the two doors, was a set of cheap halogen lights in the ceiling. Occasionally they flickered and John became afraid that they would go out but so far they had held out, along with his luck. The fear of being in this metal container without any way of seeing was almost as frightening as going outside. Looking about the room again John became bitter at the sheer lack of detail in the room. No paintings, no wallpaper, no mirrors, no ornaments or other decoration, nothing at all. John decided to change that.
With a look in his eyes that can only come from extreme boredom, he pulled a Bic pen out his of pants pocket and went up to the door leading out. John was thinking that he would write something witty on the door, but the pen, had other ideas. No matter how hard John pressed it the pen would not write. In frustration John broke the pen in half, spilling ink on his hands and leaving a small pool on the floor. Upon closer inspection the pen had just been clogged, not empty. Worried that the ink might dry up John quickly crouched down and used his index finger to write his name in the ink. Satisfied that he had left his mark John tossed the broken pen aside and sat down facing the door leading outside with his back resting on the door leading inside.
John decided to leaf through his guidebook for the hundredth time. He flicked tiredly through pages about what plants were safe to eat, why not to drink water that has no dirt in it, how to pitch a tent, how to shoot a gun, how to make a splint, how to use disinfectant etc. etc. etc. John raised the book back in order to toss it away in disgust when a small flyer fell out of the book. John didn't recognize it and was excited at the prospect of something new to read so he put the guidebook down and picked up the flyer. It read "Wal-Mart" along the top.
The flyer showed pictures of many wonderful devices, four-slice toasters, king size beds (John wondered if you had to be royalty in order to sleep in it), Batmantm lunch boxes and more. The flyer went on to claim that these items would "make your life easier". This delighted John, who figured that if people were trying to make HIS life easier then maybe things weren't so bad outside. He stood up, flyer in hand, and turned the large wheel on the airlock door. The door let out a slight hiss and then swung open, allowing light to flood the room. John cautiously stepped out into the light in search of an easier life, in search of Wal-Mart.
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