Another Day
Brian A. Lopez
Wake up. Meander to the bathroom, relieves himself. Drift to the kitchen. Turn on the television, the news is on. School shooting, corrupt politician, racist police, the traffic is bad, it’s going to rain. Bread is toasting. Coffee is percolating. Opens the refrigerator. He pauses, lifeless as the white light and barely audible hum emanating from the device. Bacon. Eggs. Sausage. One is chosen, cooked and consumed.
Shuffles to his bedroom. A wardrobe is chosen. Back to the bathroom. Showers. Shaves. Brushes teeth. The wardrobe is changed into. The sounds of other human beings.
Walks outside through the front door. Locks the deadbolt. Enters vehicle, drives away.
Enters place of employment. Works. 9 hours, 8 work, 1 lunch. Words are exchanged. Television is on. Local sports team, elderly woman beaten and robbed, buy this product, buy this product, buy this product, by this product, stock ticker scrolls.
Drives home. Words exchanged. Sits down. Dinner consumed. Television is on. Generic sitcom, buy this product, buy this product, news is on, country in turmoil, natural disaster, starvation, the reporter feels terrible.
Sleep.
Wake up. Meander to the bathroom, relieves himself. Drift to the kitchen. Turn on the television, the news is on. Sports team won, dad shoots daughter, unarmed minority killed, the traffic is bad, it’s going to be sunny. Bread is toasting. Coffee is percolating. Opens the refrigerator. He pauses, lifeless as the white light and barely audible hum emanating from the device. Bacon. Eggs. Sausage. One is chosen, cooked and consumed.
Shuffles to his bedroom. A wardrobe is chosen. Back to the bathroom. Showers. Shaves. Brushes teeth. The wardrobe is changed into. The sounds of other human beings.
Walks outside through the front door. Locks the deadbolt. Enters vehicle, drives away.
Enters place of employment. Works. 9 hours, 8 work, 1 lunch. Words are exchanged. Television is on. Celebrity seen at restaurant, more jobs outsourced, buy this product, buy this product, buy this product, by this product, stock ticker scrolls.
Drives home. Words exchanged. Sits down. Dinner consumed. Television is on. Generic sitcom, buy this product, buy this product, news is on, refugees, protests, chemical spill, the reporter feels terrible.
Sleep.
Wake up. Meander to the bathroom, relieves himself. Drift to the kitchen. Turn on the television, the news is on. Sports team lost, teens arrested, high school charged with cheating, the traffic is bad, it’s going to be overcast. Bread is toasting. Coffee is percolating. Opens the refrigerator. He pauses, lifeless as the white light and barely audible hum emanating from the device. Bacon. Eggs. Sausage. One is chosen, cooked and consumed.
Shuffles to his bedroom. A wardrobe is chosen. Back to the bathroom. Showers. Shaves. Brushes teeth. The wardrobe is changed into. The sounds of other human beings.
Walks outside through the front door. Locks the deadbolt. Enters vehicle, drives away.
Enters place of employment. Works. 9 hours, 8 work, 1 lunch. Words are exchanged. Television is on. Pop star has baby, weak growth this quarter, buy this product, buy this product, buy this product, by this product, stock ticker scrolls.
Drives home. Words exchanged. Sits down. Dinner consumed. Television is on. Generic sitcom, buy this product, buy this product, news is on, actions threatened, weapons of mass destruction, civilians shan’t be spared, the reporter feels terrible.
Sleep.
Wake up. Meander to the bathroom, relieves himself. Drift to the kitchen. Turn on the television, the news is on. Sports team lost, train crash, house illegally searched, the traffic is bad, it’s going to be partly cloudy. Bread is toasting. Coffee is percolating. Opens the refrigerator. He pauses, lifeless as the white light and barely audible hum emanating from the device. Bacon. Eggs. Sausage. One is chosen, cooked and consumed.
Shuffles to his bedroom. A wardrobe is chosen. Back to the bathroom. Showers. Shaves. Brushes teeth. The wardrobe is changed into. The sounds of other human beings.
Walks outside through the front door. Locks the deadbolt. Enters vehicle, drives away.
Enters place of employment. Works. 9 hours, 8 work, 1 lunch. Words are exchanged. Television is on. New fashion statement, more people laid off, buy this product, buy this product, buy this product, by this product, stock ticker scrolls.
Drives home. Words exchanged. Sits down. Dinner consumed. Television is on. Generic sitcom, buy this product, buy this product, news is on, terrorists, war over some imaginary lines, military dictatorship, the reporter feels terrible.
Sleep.
Wake up. Meander to the bathroom, relieves himself. Drift to the kitchen. Turn on the television, the news is on. Sports team lost, college president a fraud, man stabs four people, the traffic is bad, it’s going to be sunny. Bread is toasting. Coffee is percolating. Opens the refrigerator. He pauses, lifeless as the white light and barely audible hum emanating from the device. Bacon. Eggs. Sausage. One is chosen, cooked and consumed.
Shuffles to his bedroom. A wardrobe is chosen. Back to the bathroom. Showers. Shaves. Brushes teeth. The wardrobe is changed into. The sounds of other human beings.
Walks outside through the front door. Locks the deadbolt. Enters vehicle, drives away.
Enters place of employment. A vibration is felt, subtle yet clearly noticeable, felt more in the nerves than the body itself. The feeling lasted just barely long enough to be registered by the brain before WHOOMP. A shock wave has hit the building. In a nearly instantaneous moment a bright flash, bright enough to block out the entire universe’s collective star light, blinds the people inside the building. In a moment of pure survival Joe runs outside and stares in disbelief of the sight in front of him.
Across the river, where the city has been every day of his life, was a massive fireball, mushrooming up into the sky as if it was growing out the skyline, now dwarfed by this column and partly obscured by dark smoke. It was truly a beautiful sight, this constantly shape shifting, bulbous cloud collapsing in on itself at the bottom, like a black hole being formed, or perhaps like a hurricane feeding into its core and distributing the energy outward to take its shape, constantly taking in and putting out, as it becomes rounder and smoother.
This awe inspiring sight was fueled by a column of smoke and fire, growing perpetually as if by magic. It was not like a hair growing, with material being added on the end, but seemed truly to be producing material from nothing, a self sustaining tower of red, brown and grey ascending towards the heavens.
As this all happened, debris fell from the cloud but never fell to the ground. Instead it actually froze and hung there, forming a cone that tightened and tightened, eventually becoming absorbed into the growing tower. A low, but impenetrable, cloud blocked out much of the city now, and this moment, which Joe could not tell if long or short, was interrupted by the feeling of all his bodily fluids draining rapidly through his feet. His knees wobbled, and the realization dawned on him of what exactly was happening in front of his eyes, in a city of millions of people.
Feeling weak, Joe stumbled forward to a park bench, thankful the state built this long, thin stretch of green between the business district and the riverfront, punctuated with benches and covered in trees, with a biking path down the middle and ample space for college kids to lay out on their towels. The relief of sitting down was overwhelming on several levels, then his attention again turned to the horror unfolding in front of him.
A whirlwind of thoughts rushed through his head, all at once yet each one individually standing out: How many have died? Have there been more? Are more coming? What exactly is going on? Will we retaliate? Would we dare use our own arsenal of similar weapons? Is this the end of the world?
Then Joe did the only possible thing he could think of, sat back and took in the sight of the mushroom cloud, now flattening out and tall enough to poke a hole in the sky. The sky. It was perfectly clear. Blue as far as the eye can see, not a single cloud dotting it. A gentle wind was blowing. Joe could feel it on his face, and hear it rustling the tree over him. It was a multifaceted sound, the heavy and slow swings of the branches, the soft, quick rustle of leaves, the occasional leaf breaking free from a branch and somersault through the air, the subtle changes in the tone of the wind blowing through the air.
The sound of a bird chirping, the feel of the Sun’s rays softly blanketing you, the sound of water sloshing against the shore, grass swaying in unison like a militarized march. A plant growing out of a crack in the sidewalk. Joe turned to look back, causing a blue jay to fly from the tree. What a magnificently beautiful creature it was, with its body of icy blue, and multicolored wings. With a blue tuft atop its head and black feathers exposed in its wings during mid flight, soaring up and down with ease, changing direction like nature’s fighter pilot but gliding along with the grace of a feather in the wind, it was true majesty.
Oh, to simply be able to flap your wings and leave this Earth.
Joe’s mind drifted back to the scene in font of him across the river. Unsure of what should be done, he started walking back to his car. He figured might as well go home to see his family, though he was going to enjoy the smell of the flowers and man made architecture and art along the way. So he did, without a thought in his head, as if they evaporated off, and were billowing towards the heavens in a mushrooming tower.