INTERLUDE: May 8, 2003.
She walks. Yes, she walks. Walks, walks walks. Continues
to walk. Walks along that eternal black and white grid. Walks,
walks walks.
And, frankly, it's getting
boring. All this walking.
Really, really, really boring.
If there were some trees,
at least. Or some stars. Or, well, anything to look at but
this grid under her feet.
Boring, boring, boring.
Actually, it was boring
hours ago. Now, it's gotten excruciating.
Actually, it was excruciating
hours ago. Now, it's gotten, well, somehow worse. She has passed
into a state of being beyond excruciating.
Each second feels like hours,
years. If, indeed, those are seconds passing.
She has lost track of time.
This is partly what makes the boredom of the grid move past excruciating.
For a while, she figured
she could keep track of time at least somehow loosely by counting out each
footstep. From the moment she raises a leg, to the instant it drops--
well, that's probably not actually one second, but at least it's one *something,*
and so calling that motion one second seemed like a pretty good idea.
And so, sixty footsteps would equal a minute-- even though she knew that
sixty of her footsteps probably took less than a minute-- still, it was
sixty *somethings* and so sixty of those somethings would be her new "minute."
It seemed seemed like a
good plan, until that is she caught herself walking slower and slower,
seeming to take two, three, and then eight seconds to raise and drop a
foot.
If, indeed, that's what
she was actually doing. Maybe she was counting wrong. But she
shouldn't be counting. Her footsteps, that was her method of counting.
Or maybe she was walking
faster and faster. She could have been walking faster and faster
and only thinking she was walking slower and slower.
Honestly, she couldn't tell.
And that was the point the
boredom moved beyond excruciating.
And so she tried to keep
herself busy.
She tried screaming.
But that just hurt her throat.
She sang the Meow Mix commercial
jingle for what felt like weeks.
Then she sang the beerbottle
song a few dozen times.
Then she combined the beerbottle
song with screaming and it went something like this:
In stead of singing "99
bottles of beer on the wall" she would sing "99"-- and then she would scream
really, really loud and hold the scream for as long as she could, and then
finish up with "on the wall." The next line would then be "98 [SCREAM]
on the wall," and so on. She did that for a while, too.
She didn't try combining
the Meow Mix song with screams, though. Because after doing the entire
beerbottle song with screams a few times her throat was fairly sore.
And now she just walks in
silence.
Walking, walking walking.
Walking.
Walking.
And then:
"Psst."
At first, she's so busy
walking the sound doesn't really register. So:
"Psst."
And then the sound registers
and she stops walking.
"Psst."
She turns and sees a podium,
and what looks like a television set sitting ontop of the podium.
The television set is old.
It has rabbit ears.
She just stares.
"Psst," from the podium.
And so she walks up to the
podium.
"Hey," says the podium,
"lookit me."
"Uh," she says.
"Hello?"
"'Uh,'" the podium mimics
in a really annoying, nasal voice. "'Hello?'"
And so she just stares at
the podium.
After a long time, the podium
finally says:
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Aren't you going to ask
me what I'm doing here?"
"I don't even know exactly
what you are."
"I'm a podium," says the
podium, "with a television set sitting ontop of me."
"Oh."
Another long pause.
And, the podium:
"So are all you gonna do
is stare at me?"
"I don't really know what--"
"Well, you're pretty useless
aren't you."
"Hey!"
"What?"
"No reason to be belligerent."
And again with the nasal:
"'No reason to be belligerent.'"
"Okay. I'm leaving."
"Try."
And she starts walking.
"It'll be like you're walking
in a treadmill," says the podium.
And she ignores the voice,
and keeps walking.
Walking, walking walking.
Walking.
Walking.
When she stops walking,
she turns to her right.
The podium is still there.
"Told ya."
So she walks in the opposite
direction.
"Won't do any good," says
the podium.
And she ignores the voice,
and keeps walking.
Walking, walking walking.
Walking.
Walking.
When she stops walking,
she turns to her left.
The podium is still there.
"Give up?" from the podium.
And then she has the idea
that maybe she hasn't gotten way from the podium because all this time
she's been walking parallel to it.
So she turns away from the
podium, and literally walks away from it.
"I can seeeee yooooooooou,"
from the podium in a sultry, mocking, and really ultimaletly offputting
voice. "Ooooohhh, I am following yoooooooouuuuu."
And she ignores the voice,
and keeps walking.
Walking, walking walking.
Walking.
Walking.
For a long time.
And then she stops walking.
"You're still there, aren't
you," she says.
"You've got a great ass,"
says the podium. "Not too big, not to small."
"Okay." She turns
around. "So what am I supposed to do."
"Read me."
"What?"
And then text appears on
the television screen.
"Read me," the podium says
again.
She scans the text.
"These are just a bunch
of *30*s."
"Yep," the podium says.
"You've been neglecting your reading. It's time you got caught up."
"Neglecting my reading?
I've been here, walking, for how long?"
"Excuses, excuses."
"If you could just tell
me how the hell I am supposed to--"
"Read. Now.
Or I won't let you go. I have, literally, as far as you are concerned,
forever."
So she grinds her teeth,
squints, and wades through the rows and rows and rows of text.
And when she's done:
"There. That wasn't
so bad, was it?"
"Speak for yourself," she
says.
"Oh, tut tut. Now
you can be on your merry way."
She turns away from the
podium, and scans the grid for any sign of, well, anything. But....
And so she turns back to
the podium.
"Speaking of being on my
way--"
But nothing's there.
The podium, the tv, gone. Just more infinite grid.
And so she picks a direction
away from where the podium was, and walks. Again.
Walking, walking walking.
Walking.
Walking.
"Asshole," she thinks....
Next: Fear....