lai@shadow.Berkeley.EDU (Nick Lai) (09/11/86)
/*
* Slow pan shot of the mist rising off of the bog, the tall weeds
* nestled along the banks of the fetid water - a sullen moon pouts
* behind fast-moving clouds and all around the crushing silence
* lies. As the frame moves to the left we make out the image of
* a run-down shack, its aging roof-tiles curled up and cracked, its
* tired boards brittle from years of abuse, from the elements, from
* the passage of savage time. A glow is perceivable in the
* gaping hole that might be a window, and our field of vision focuses
* and we approach that portal, past wispy mist, past wiry weeds ...
* Dark forms! Something is *alive* in there, and long shadows are
* cast upon mouldy walls by a furtive flame that lies trapped within
* the damp twigs upon the floor. The pulse quickens and our
* surrogate eye slowly peers over the sill. Around us the smell of
* dark deeds and foul hearts circles and penetrates, a shudder
* must surely be dancing upon our spines. A man - a man, yet less,
* and more. He cups a cigarette in his hand, and after exhaling the
* hot vapour, he gives the other man a dark, piercing look.
*/
man 1: "That is the *last* time you screw up, Frederick. If you
EVER fail me again, I'll cut your heart out."
/*
* At this point, man 1 tosses his cigarette out of our window.
* Fortunately, he does not follow the arc with his eyes, else
* we would now be reeling back from that decrepit building,
* clutching the bursting wounds that would have been inflicted
* upon us.
*/
man 2: "I ... I, Mr. Bersker, I, I swear to GOD
I couldnt do anything about it! They .. they made
me talk!"
man 1: "Dont grovel, Freddy. I dont like it. Now here, take this
heater and go finish the job."
/*
* Suddenly there is a rustling in the corner, a loud scratching
* sound, and finally the sound of a wall being rent apart.
* Blinding light fills the room, sirens wail, the walls shake
* and disassociate themselves from the ceiling, which then
* explodes into a billion shards of light. Standing there in
* all of its glory, dominating the desolate bog, is
* Mr. Mechanical Pencil, hero of the weak, enemy of the enemy,
* doer of good deeds and ass-kicker extraordinaire.
*/
Mr. MP: "Freeze, dirt-bags!"
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| Nick Lai | ARPAnet: lai@shadow.berkeley.edu | USEnet: ..!ucbvax!shadow!lai |
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