Tuesday, April 27, 2004

More in the ongoing saga
Because I love you.

Sol, part II

Simon Lewis was a young man of about five foot ten, average build. He wore his black hair in a chaotic pattern that implied a lack of maintenance. He had green eyes and was perpetually snide. He wore, from head to foot, black: a black t-shirt, black jeans, a black windbreaker, and black tennis shoes. All of his clothes contained black and could therefore be mixed and matched with no care given to style or possible color clashing.


When Simon was a young boy of five years old, his parents had died in a car crash. Simon was at day care at he time, but was picked up by social services. The new question was: where would the boy go? After checking the Lewis’s files, it was determined that the only living relatives were Mr. Lewis’s sister, Fran Richards. Fran, for her part, thought it would be wonderful to have a child around the house, and eagerly accepted him.

However, like a young child with a new toy, Fran soon grew tired of the work involved in raising Simon and took a hands-off approach. Her husband, Lenny Richards, had no interest in the boy in any way, shape, or form, and Simon quickly realized he couldn’t count on his aunt and Uncle for anything. Thus Simon grew up somewhat bitter and quite snide. His dim view of the world and human nature could hardly be considered his fault, considering the environment he grew up in: Fran was something of a harlot, Lenny never got off the couch.

When Brooks called Simon a “goth”, he was incorrect, because “goth” is a term for a social group, and Simon belonged to no social groups. He was alone, and he had convinced himself he was better off this way. He had made some friends before his parents died, but he was five then, and they were on the opposite coast of the country. Simon had lived in a cheerful suburb in Seattle, but Fran lived in a tacky suburb in Virginia, so there Simon went.

Simon’s new house was rather slovenly, with an obnoxious paint job and a poorly cared-for lawn. He sighed as he opened the door, resigned to his fate of sub-mediocrity. As he walked inside, Fran came up to him hurriedly.

“It’s about time you got home,” she said, not making eye contact. “Your money’s on the table.” Fran’s secret to legally imposed child rearing was to give the kids cash and let them worry about things like food and clothing.

“Where are you going?” Simon asked, deadpan.

“I’ve got to work late with Mr. Reilly at the office. I’ll be gone all night.” With that, she left.

Simon rolled his eyes. It was funny, but no matter how much Fran “worked late” with her male co-workers, she never got any work done. He wondered if there was a Mrs. Reilly, but decided he was better off not knowing. He went to his room.

Simon’s room was the single neatest room in the house. This did not reflect on Simon’s habits, but was rather a reflection of his personality. The house was messy, so his room was clean. Had the house been clean, his room would have been messy. It was simple.

Looking at Simon’s room would cause one to ponder exactly what kind of person lived there. It was full of contrasts. Above his bed was a large poster of the velociraptors from “Jurassic Park”. His bookshelf held such diverse titles as The War of the Worlds, David Copperfield, The Andromeda Strain, The Cat in the Hat, Faust, The Silence of the Lambs, and Moby Dick. On his dresser were a mismatched assortment of playing cards, baseball cards, cards from movies and comic books, and game cards. A reproduction of the Mona Lisa was on his opposite wall.

His modest collection of second hand VHS and CD’s were equally mismatched. “Batman”, “The Great Muppet Caper”, “Young Frankenstien”, “Ever After”, “The Mask” and “The Pokemon Movie” were among the tapes available for his viewing pleasure. His music collection consisted of REM, Tim McGraw, Mozart, Billy Idol, Blink-182, Madonna, and “Thriller”. All in all, Simon’s room gave the suggestion of a very unique
individual residing within, a theory that wouldn’t have been off the mark.

Simon sighed once again and deposited his school supplies in their designated locations. He changed into casual attire, a simple action that merely necessitated changing his shirt. Determined to leave the house, he put on a jacket of predictable color and went into the kitchen to get his money.

“Hey,” Uncle Lenny called from his busted recliner in the living room. “Where you goin’, boy?”

“Out.” Simon wished, just for once, that a one-word answer wouldn’t be enough to satisfy, but he was disappointed.

“Well, then, don’t take the last cola outta’ the fridge. I’m savin’ that.” Lenny never even bothered to look up from “Jerry Springer”, a fact that did not escape Simon’s attention.

“Sure,” Simon said as he grabbed the last cola from the fridge. It wasn’t a blatant display of rebellion so much as it was a bid for attention. Sadly, Simon knew he would not get the attention, and accepted this. He walked out the front door, not bothering to say good-bye.

He would go to the park, he decided. Simon loved the park, mostly because of the seclusion offered. With Susan off doing who-knows-what with who-knows-who, he felt that a bit of natural seclusion would do him a world of
good.

**
She didn’t know what the planet’s name was, but it orbited the star marked as “Sol” in the ship’s database. Her enemy was hot on her trail, so the time for further education was limited, to say the least. She turned to her companion.

“Did those last rounds damage the ship?” she asked authoritatively. Of course, she did not ask this in English, but due to the phonetic limitations of human keyboards, suspensions of belief must be made for the benefit of the audience.

So, the audience will kindly pretend that she really did ask “Did those last rounds damage the ship?” instead of a phrase sounding more like “Ieyscazaa toloro muka ne?”

Her companion nodded. “The cargo hold is badly damaged! Another shot may knock us out of the sky!”

Murphy’s Law working true to form, a sudden jolt raked through the ship. “Our cargo hold’s been blown open!”

“Has the artifact been lost?” she demanded.

“Everything’s lost but that’s the least of our problems! I-!”

Another jolt, and the ship’s lights went black. “Scuz!!” she swore as the ship was pulled apart from the rear and began to descend into the planet’s atmosphere.

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