[metal slicing noise]
[ominous metal music playing]
[girl] No no no no no no
First of all, what the fuck are "meat sounds?" I was unaware that meat made sounds, then again...
And something about "ominous metal music" just strikes me as wrong . (Haha I wrote meatal music at first by accident.) Ominous and metal just don't seem to mix. How about dark metal, or slow metal, or doom metal? How many ominous metal bands could there even be?
I don't know, and frankly, I don't give a fuck anymore. I'm going to start a new genre called meatal and slap steaks together and pour pig's blood on the crowd.
Here's your fuckin story.
Arkady and the Doves
It is a magnificent summer day. The sun is bright, yet not too hot. There is a gentle breeze swaying the tiny branches of the sparse trees on the city blocks. It is noon and the sun rests upon all that one can see, unobstructed by the massive skyscrapers of New York. A middle-aged pudgy little man has just finished another lonely lunch in a downtown bistro. His name is Arkady. He has been employed at the same tiresome paper company for 26 years. He initially took the job as temporary income while he found something he truly loved. A quarter of a century later he still has not found his true calling and he doubts he ever will. In all that time, Arkady has only received a handful of raises and has moved up a scant four floors in the tall building that houses the entire staff of Benson &Eggers Paper Company. Life is dreary on the seventh floor and he is gladdened by his one-hour lunch break, if only slightly. He ate at the same bistro he has gone to for decades, having his usual pastrami on rye with a vanilla egg-cream. He notices with regret that hardly anyone even knows what an egg-cream is anymore, much less drinks them. The once famous Brooklyn beverage has fallen ignominiously much like his dreams of being someone he could be proud of. Everyday the light gets dimmer and the colors of life fade to gray.
Today is July 24th, Arkady’s birthday. No one at the office remembered. He has long since cast off his friends and family. He is alone in an endless sea of people, drifting along unnoticed. There were no congratulations, no cards, no presents, no cake. He did not expect anything different, but on this particular birthday, he decided to make a slight change. He fell to thinking on his way out of the bistro, staring down at his black leather shoes glistening brightly in the sun at every step. The slow, steady rhythm of hard soles on concrete had a hypnotizing effect, and while the miseries of life still weighed upon him like a heavy woolen coat, it lessened his awareness of it. After aimlessly wandering for some time, he looked up to find he was standing at the edge of Central Park. The rich green grass and tall dark trees drew him inside. He longed to be near nature, to escape his world just a little bit more. He found a bench in a clear space and felt as if it was made for him. He sat down rather uncomfortably at first. So used to feeling depressed and full of self-loathing, he lost all sense of self-respect and often did things in a matter purposely uncomfortable for him, like a punishment for being such a disgusting failure. But soon he relaxed into a more comfortable position and began to feel the slightest sense of what might be peace.
As he sat there surrounded by lush greenery and laughing people, he started going over his life-choices and decisions hoping to find the moment when he became this vulgar shell of a man. Regrets came quick to mind, followed closely by embarrassments and stupid mistakes. He felt the pain of these moments renewed and was on the verge of tears when his thoughts shifted and he thought of all the people he had helped. In all his life he had tried at least to be good and helpful to others. “Blessed are the peacemakers; theirs is the kingdom of heaven” as his mother used to tell him.
At this recollection, he looked up into the clear blue sky. There was not a cloud to be seen, only endless pristine blue framed by the edges of his vision. For a moment he felt as if he did not exist as he was. In this singular instant, he was not the disillusioned accountant, but a wandering soul floating carelessly in the great and vast sky. Arkady felt easy and good. Staring up into such beauty and perfection, he felt whole for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. All at once Arkady truly felt his existence, and felt that it was a noble one. He believed that he did the best with the little he had, that he made the best choices available to him and would continue to do so. Oh, how silly his despair seemed to him now. There really was no cause to be so down all the time. Life is meant to be enjoyed. At that lovely and serene moment five doves flew up from the lower edge of his vision. The birds appeared as if from thin air, as if they were called forth by his will alone. They traced a straight, linear path upward into the sky. Direct and purposeful, almost as if they were being lifted up into heaven by god himself. It seemed to him that these pure white doves symbolized himself and his soul being redeemed. He felt that it was a sign that god loved him, was looking out for him, and would be ready to take him in a loving embrace at the end of his days. Just as he came to that conclusion, three of the doves turned black as if suddenly incinerated and fell gracelessly downward to the cold, hard asphalt. Arkady watched in frozen horror as their charred carcasses were promptly smashed and shredded by passing cars till only a dark stain was all that remained of them. A bad omen. Darkness once again oppressed itself down upon his heart. He stood up and walked out of the park, and his dreams, and his momentary happiness to once again join the world of men. Back into the hopelessness of his meaningless job. Back into the cruelty and corruption of reality.