About Me
I. THE AGE OF MAN
Category: Writing and PoetryCREATION. That is when this story truly begins. In this I am referring to the period slightly after the sole existence of the timeless, lifeless void called nothing. We know—that is, those of us who still choose to contemplate the idea—that during the Creation "He" created the universe and all the forces and elements therein. However, this was only the first creation. For, after the appearance of man, the power of Creation passed into his hands to do with as he would. And he would. This, was the Age of Man.CHAPTER ONE
GilAs he sat on the six o'clock bus headed down Main Street, Charles "Gil" Gilbert's mind was, for the first time in a long time, at ease. He sat alone on the seventh row, right-hand side, occasionally glancing out the window. His eye unintentionally caught a glimpse of a young couple of lovers rushing, hand-in-hand, to the apartment complex they called home. Gil's mind drifted steadily away to his past. He was almost glad when the bus suddenly came to a quick halt, because he had once again been thinking of her. Her being his ex-wife (although they had never been divorced, that's the way he referred to her). Her being the one who always diminished his tranquil feelings of peace that came so infrequently.The bus had stopped; however, Gil did not get off. He desperately wished it was his time to get off, but it wasn't. Every night he had to ride this bus home, and every night this was the stop he dreaded most. Though he was not very likely to get mugged on a crowded bus, he still did not welcome the scum that always came with this stop.A wide variety of persons piled into the bus, hurriedly seating themselves. But one slow-moving scrub of a man was coming up the aisle taking his ever-lovin' time. Gil looked about himself, realizing there were no empty seats—save the one beside him.The bus lurched forward, and the man in the aisle almost fell flat on his face. Gil took in the pitiful view of this man. He was fairly old with worn out clothes and an even more worn out body. Gil could smell him from this distance of five feet, and he knew he had gotten the pick-of-the-litter to keep him company until his stop came up. The man's skin was brown and wrinkled, matching the paper bag he had clenched in his right hand (which was presumably concealing a bottle of cheap wine). Gil guessed the man was a wino, probably homeless, too. But in fact that perception was far from the truth. This man had a home, a family, and a considerably successful job. His outfit was just his work clothes, and they worked almost every time. He had already collected over two hundred dollars today. Today had been a slow day."Hullo," the man mumbled in slurred speech. Gil paid no attention to this; he was staring in the opposite direction, out the window. A car had just flown by his side of the bus—literally flown by. It was hovering just two feet above the street. In this day and time, it was illegal to drive a personal car on the congested downtown roadways, only commercial and public transportation vehicles were allowed. This was partly due to pollution, partly because of the occurrence of gridlock, but mainly so that the bureaucrats and their cronies could get filthy rich. However, hi-cars were allowed to travel above the surface of the roads.Gil watched the hi-car through his window. The car was slowed down by a taxi crawling up ahead. Then the driver simply shifted into second gear; the car immediately raised ten feet above the blacktop and flew out of sight. Gil's mind was now sailing on a ship not welcome in his harbor, but he could do nothing to battle it. Gil thought to himself: I could be soaring along in my own hovercar. I'd be home in no time at all.A scowl came to his face. She's forced me to degrade myself by riding this run down, low-class system of transportation. Why didn't I insist on what I wanted, and needed? Gil knew the answer to that one, but he refused to acknowledge it. He loved her—had loved her—and had given her anything and everything she'd wanted.God, how I had wanted that car. I saved up for it the entire year before…"No!" Gil muttered out loud. The man beside him looked over and studied him. He was sitting up tensely in his seat, mouth and eyes closed firmly, fingers locked together tightly in his lap. There was a hurt look on his face, but at the same time there was anger in it, too. The old man grinned.Gil had fallen asleep—not a wise thing to do under the circumstances he would admit later—but at that moment Gil didn't give a flying fuck because Gil was not in the real world. He thought of nothing except—"That thing!" he shouted. Heads turned his way. He had bought that thing for her (his wife). He'd much rather have bought a brand new hovercar than that thing, and now that thing was coming for him….The bus barked to a rough stop, and Gil was rocked forward, waking up. "Thank you God! Thank you, God Almighty," Gil said under his breath and wiped the sweat from his brow.
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Vzilla
The war is over.. didn't you hear? Not the war in iraq. The war on myspace.
