Elementress

                            Written by Dresden Graves

                           Special thanks to Jimmy Emmonstein 

Rain patters harmlessly off of the canopy, each impact and subsequent detonation a loud splattering to sound as a drumming of boots marching on, relentlessly. Veiled within a shield of these all-encompassing torrents, a man walks from out underneath the plastic and to the landing zone situated congruently with the entrance. Above and across the skyline magenta lines brazenly streak as if they were the tip of a sword being slashed around furiously. In response to his presence one of the indeterminable number of streaks slows to simultaneously privy its form to human sense. Above the parking space, within the dualistic symphony of rain and thunder, the autocar halts and descends until hovering precariously a mere inches above the pavement. The door swings open.

On the plush leather he can relax, dry off. He briskly shakes his head like a dog; droplets heartily spray the silicon interior as if it was a microcosm to the thunderstorm raging outside. Rain, rain, go away? He wonders where he first heard that expression. Too long ago; that's for sure. His memory, just like the streets, is getting hazy, filtered through an indecipherable lens of vapor.

When was the last time Markus enjoyed the water? 3, or 4 years ago on a nice Caribbean beach. If you try to juxtapose the mental image- the endless yellow sand, palm trees and place it over his current locale- it seemed to personify the streets with hostility and inadequateness. But not for a lack of trying, a million or more playful caricatures jumped by you, through you, or over you wherever you commuted. Now take a moment and descend into the underground burrows in which the mole people live. An earthen floor to sleep on, no clothing save a frankenstein hemming together of discarded rags- minimal light and food.Those poor bastards have never even seen the sun, and by this malnourishment evolved a physiognomic twisting in reflection of their unnatural existence. It could be 3 months of straight rain, a rainstorm of biblical proportion, yet for that eventual release and its accompanying pleasures when beamingly over the horizon, flanked by an unyielding blue sky, the sun shines final and unobscured just as the word of God.

There is a slight feverish pleasure trail over his receptors. A tinge in the brain wired for this association. If he didn't mind being probed he would go to the doctors. Something was wrong with him.

The train winds through a range of hills and meadows like a child's caboose. Relentlessly it plows forward until it catches sight of the familiar hub of the train station brooding over the tracks. Markus lowers his paper to see the wheels blow and blow their breath repeatedly, through each repetition becoming a little bit more exhausted until they stop their exhaling and die. Markus swears for a second there is a face on the train; a painted white background, bright red features, until its replacement by the familiar victorian cast.

First to board on the disembarked train is a gnarled old man. Disease. The pandemic raging on in China. The next stoic gentleman in line is "Mr. Never Leaving The God-damn Island". Don't forget your umbrella, it's still on the bench Sir ! Lastly is Julie; Sweet Julie; Dressed all in black accordingly for my eulogy, yet to be in her coach flattered, wine and dined by the prevailing Mr. Intransigent. She always needed someone steady. All my friends, all the people I have to see off on the station. People that I just can't muster the courage to say goodbye too.

Reality and cognizance meld, pushing aside the bold fantasy. The monolithic, Romanesque Department of Electrolabs looms over the aerial Autocar and it appears to assert its dominance by leaning over Markus as the Autocar descends. This must be what Ceaser felt like going to work. Flanked by spiral, marble columns which emanate their superior essence onto all that pass through. The limestone arches framing the front entrance are like its teeth.
f
He passes by the pretty receptionist who presumptuously asks, " How are you?" He turns to face her, a grave man in a navy blue suit and blazer with swollen red eyes. She audibly gasps.