Influences of the while
Books: Automated Alice – Jeff Noon
Music : Augie March & N type
Film: Baste Taste - Peter Jackson.
Well, in essence I lost my job a while ago. It was my fault really, I decided to ride a bike across Central America. Was it my fault though, I was fleeing a crumbled relationship. Yes, it probably was. That has led me here though, unemployed but two job offers in hand. One in London, where a lot of friends live, and one in Hong Kong, where a new adventure lie. Both fun jobs, engineering sustainable buildings (it's what I do best). Anxiety over what to do is driving me quite mad. My brain seems to explode with fire crackers of options, possibilities and futures.
Well only one way to decide, fill out two acceptances, select two random post boxes in London, assign a job to each, I walk, which ever one I find first is the job I take. Simple. Well nothing is really simple is it.
I had walked about 2 miles when the people around me started to stagger and scowl at me. Rude I thought, but London after all. I walk a bit further, I got a little offended when I saw a couple in an advanced state of foreplay in the street. They were biting each others necks. Passionately. Anyway I was almost at Soho so anything goes I guess.
A question I often ask myself, 'Do you cross the street to help, if you see someone getting attacked?'
Always, I have always thought until today. As I turned a corner I saw a young woman ruthlessly stabbing an suited man in the skull. I didn't run across the road, I fell to my knees, crippled, and cried out 'Help!', 'Somebody, police, someone.' but the people around me seemed oblivious, in a nine to five trance. Sushi for lunch and tips for dessert.
I just stood there, the knife kept plunging in and sucking out. Blood and skull pattering on the pavement. People just walked on by. I slumped against the wall in mental exhaustion. A stream of people flowed passed. And passed. More people. I guess the blood was flowing across the street, I wasn't watching anymore.
The more people that passed me the more they seemed to look at me. Look at me like I wasn't one of them. Look at me like I wasn't a person. The more I looked at them, the more they looked distant, almost alien.
Suddenly a middle aged man in jeans and t-shirt, the type I'd wear, turned to me. His lips quivered. His eyes, although they focused on me, seemed vaporous. His lips turned into a snarl, then they opened and let out terrific cry. The street stopped and turned, turned to me, started to crowd around me, looking intently. Looking like they wanted me.
My legs took over, my arms pushed and swept aside as I ran, ran for anywhere.
Only once I looked over my shoulder, only once I saw the a baying crowd with automated steps chasing me down.
After that I ran, ran fast, and faster. Until my lungs burned and I was safe in my friends flat. I still had both letters, I still don't know which job to take – Any suggestions, I assume the zombies have left now..