The elevator door opens to a single stairway leading up to a single door, narrow and dimly lit by two bulbs. One hangs above the floor in front of the elevator while the second is fixed at the top of the stairs. The combination of the tarnished light fixtures and the pale, off-white walls coats the passage sickly yellow. With light at the bottom and light up at the top, the stairs are cascaded with an uncertain and meditated dust of darkness. It’s a purgatory, for lack of a better term, and I’m at the bottom working my way to the top. This darkness is hesitation. Nonetheless, I make haste and reach the apex safely. I open the door to the outside world.
The roof of the building is white and spans to a greater area than I had thought. As I look up and over the molding, from what I remember, I thought the building looked taller from the bottom. Crows glide across the ashen blue canvas sky. The buildings’ heights don’t penetrate the clouds, so a hyperbole is inappropriate at the moment; however, they do stand tall. They reach high enough to give the optical illusion of their swaying back and forth. With this realization, now that it is mentioned, it even feels as if the roof is teetering—just slightly—up to down and side to side. I extend my arms for balance as my body and mind adjusts to this new insight on the world.
Uproar breaks the initial silence. Slowly, I walk over to the side of the building and find people running in and out of the streets. Some enter buildings while others leave them. Others trying to enter buildings are pushed away by the surge of people spilling out. The building has a hole and its business is sinking. With the lack of people, would the building even deflate?
My train of thought is interrupted by a Molotov cocktail explosion just below the eave of my building. Rioters are throwing the flaming bottles and rocks and other various objects up at me, throwing anything they can get their hands on. Excluding the exploding implements, they throw rocks of those many things. I duck behind the building’s ledge. I crawl to the center of the roof. Standing erect, I’m in the center of a world degraded, a world corrupted, a world reasoned by destruction, and the only solution to the matter is death.
All I can do is close my eyes.
I feel the roof move below me. The teetering, no longer an illusion, turns into a reality. I extend my arms to retain balance. The shifting building below me rises from the back, levels, and then pops up in the front. With the little time my body had in adjusting, I stumble with the change. I fall on my face as I slide down the incline until I lose touch with the roof, falling back though the air and through the open roof door. I clip the stairs with my feet, and I stumble through the air until my body hits the elevator. This could be considered a hole-in-one. What would it matter anyway? My celebrating is interrupted by everything going black.
I play with words and invisible objects.
A mind, a pen and a piece paper have the best relationship ever.
"Remember this--if you shut your mouth, you have your choice."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald