Making Moves

Monsoon:

With the tide of new energy and technology, society made huge advancements. Cities expanded and stretched toward the sky, machines dictated infinite production, and populations increased with a massive surge. Places like New York, Philadelphia, and Boston roared with people, each with a fresh level of intelligence. Business thrived. But for a while, the food industry struggled- there was a difficulty in growing the necessary amounts of produce naturally. However, with the advent of agricultural science, farming was no longer an issue. Meat and vegetables could be created in a lab setting in record time. Problem solved. It seemed like the world was running with greased gears, perfectly, wonderfully, cleanly.

But the world couldn't live in a golden age forever; equivalent exchange had to be factored in. Pollution, both from plastics and the waste used in the production of goods, began to cause malfunctions in the natural cycle of the weather. A wild blizzard struck Los Angeles in California, a hurricane wreaked havoc up the side of Texas all the way into Canada. People became scared, terrified of these monstrous events. They demanded a change. It was time to shut down the synthetic and retreat from their so-called evolutionary path. The scientists agreed- if they continued along the highway they wouldn't survive. So, over a series of years, change came.

Cities decreased in size as science focused on the safe deletion of harmful materials and waste. Seasons adapted back to their normal cycle and for the first time in fifty years, the air smelled of fresh flowers instead of crude oil. Depression and doom were lifted, and smiles hung above doorways.

\\\---------------------------

That is, until an electrical storm, greater than any previous disaster appeared roaring down the coast of Maine. At least, that's what the news said.

To Roger's tired eyes, the red, LED display on the alarm clock read 3:39 PM. Then it changed. 4:00 PM, 2:55 PM, 11:31 PM, nothing. Roger squinted, blinked, then glared at his clock. But it was off, showing nothing. Drowsily, he sat up, his hand blindly patting the bedside table, searching for the TV remote. He felt it, made contact, then pressed the button he'd pressed so many times before. Nothing.

The power must have shut off overnight. No worries.

Roger rolled over, moving closer to the warmth of his wife, Sarah. It wouldn't hurt if he slept in a little longer- he had an excuse, after all. With a smile, he shut his eyes, and squeezed Sarah's hand. Outside, black thunder clouds huddled in a menacing group. Rain tumbled, pounding the city below, marinating it in a conductive stew. Hurricane-like winds buffeted the tall buildings, causing them to sway unnaturally. Lighting began to strike.

Emergency power kicked in.

An overwhelming siren screeched in his ear, and Roger bolted upright. A light flashed from the corner of the apartment, emphasizing the enraged spirit of nature shown in the large window. Next to him, Sarah looked worried. Her eyes wavered, and fear began to take hold- she never was a fan of thunder and lightning. Roger rubbed her shoulder, stating that things were going to be alright. But they needed to leave their apartment. As the couple put on their rain jackets, the siren continued to shriek, a constant, foreboding reminder. Behind them, the door slammed shut. It rattled, vibrating the metal numbers of the apartment, #212. The door would never open again.

Lightning, an ever present artist, smothered the dark sky with its vivid paint brush. Thunder, the angry musician, blasted its audience with enormous bass drums.

The lobby was packed- both with people and with panic. Roger pushed through the crowd with defensive, angry, and nervous sweeps of his arms. He was never letting go of Sarah's hand. Above the rough, boisterous murmuring, a voice repeated over a loud speaker.

"This is not a drill. This is not a drill. Storm warning has reached a critical level. The Army stated that all citizens must remain inside on the bottom level of their buildings. Remain inside on the bottom level of their buildings. Be on standby for further information."

Roger reached the double doors of the complex's entryway. They loomed tall over his head, staring down at him like computer screens displaying a miraculous screen saver.

"Be on standby for further information. Storm warning has reached a critical..."

The windows surrounding the room flashed white, erasing all sound, all sight. Then, with one, resounding explosion, all senses returned.

Shrapnel and water rushed in.

\\\\-----------------

The psychic withdrew his hand from Roger's forehead. Roger was sweating in the leather chair, shaking, twitching. His eyes slowly opened, then darted from side to side, frantic, around the room. He was also breathing heavily, obviously drained. "It's alright. You're alright. That was just a memory- the first part of our session. You're doing great."

Sighing, the psychic rubbed his nose, then yawned. "Why don't I send Anne in with a glass of water? Then we'll continue?"

Weakly, Roger nodded. His entire body felt heavy, and he couldn't figure out where he was. The glass of water appeared next to him on a table, and he made an attempt to drink it- but couldn't get more than a sip down. Roger's eyes bulged, and fear gripped his body as the psychic's hand went back into his forehead.

No. No. Not again.

End of Part #1

Inspired by a dream on May 9th, 2010. Part #2 will be out next week.

What I'm Doing: Sitting on a world, top down in a convertible.

212:
Today, as stated by one of the teacher's I work with, is Writing Wednesday. Although it is nearing a close here on the east side of things, I've completed my writing, and accomplished my Wednesday. Woot for Wednesday.

See this red jacket? Yep, there it is. Bright, flashy, roughly nine months old and as visible as a neon light bulb. I wear this piece of clothing on my back daily- and no, I'm not a 6'8" power forward. To every pedestrian I pass, the jacket seems to say, "Ask me anything." Just the other day I was attempting to hop onto the express train and head southbound from City Hall. Before I could jump through the sliding doors, I was barraged by a combo attack of two confused women (simultaneously). But by now, I'm a trained veteran at this sort of thing. One of them stammered a right jab, asking me if this was the train to Girl's High. The other demanded, with a fierce side-kick, whether this could take her to Snyder. Needless to say, I, the artful martial arts master/trapeze artist, handled their questions with ease- providing them with a kindly smile as I slipped into the train, seconds before the doors closed for good.

Besides the usual public transportation concerns, I'm often asked about City Year (what is it/what do you do?). These are questions I happily answer, and I enjoy seeing the genuine interest of the people around me. I also get a series of micro-quizzes toward my appearance. Currently, I've been asked if I work for, or as:

1. SEPTA (as a bus driver/train driver)
   
2. NASA (as an astronaut)
   
3. The Police (as a cop)
   
4. The City of Philadelphia
   
5. A Garbage Man
   

I guess it's good to have variety, good to remain mysterious. These quirky questions always cheer up my day- especially when I'm asked if I'm an astronaut. That one's great. It's nice that the City Year jacket (for all its uniformity) has variety in spades.

This Saturday, Pre-June (May) 15th, there is a massive service event called "Serve-a-thon." Every year, City Year organizes this huge ordeal for the Fall. But this year, Autumn decided to cry a river, and we couldn't quite build the bridge to escape from drowning. Serve-a-thon, postponed since October, has finally arrived. It's being held at a large recreation center across the street from the high school I work with. This, in itself, is fantastic. Many of my students (along with 500+ volunteers) will be active from 9:00 AM in the morning; painting fences, building planters/benches, creating wonderful murals, and beautifying the entire space. I'm excited to see how it turns out. No matter what happens though, I know Serve-a-thon will add a brilliant touch to the community around my school.

Following Serve-a-thon, on the 16^th of Pre-June (May), I'll be the guy in the subway asking for directions. I'm making moves with my man The Prince (a.k.a Law from my CY team). We're going to crash down on the capital of this country, bringing our "mad skillz" in investigative journalism with us. The pedestrians of D.C won't know what hit them. Using the simple strategy of an alias, The Prince and I will act like reporters from obscure magazines, with even more obscure names (such as Shamus McElroy and Andre Steel). We'll report on anything from the NBA playoffs (GO SUNS!) to the recent major oil spill. It should provide for an intense, humorous, and eventful day. Be prepared for a download of that information in next week's edition of the 212.

My awesome teammate, Samantha, has been gathering submissions from the students at my school for City Year's publishing opportunity, Lit. Mag. She's worked hard for a series of months now- and she is the most adamant, sincere, and difficult-to-resist person I know. She's received countless poetry, drawings, sketches, artwork, and stories from students, and she is a wonderful asset to my team. She read me a poem today from one of the students, and I loved it. Here it is, copied below. I believe this student is in 8^th grade.

-------======`*^

My Passion
By C. Ellis

My passion shines for you like
The sun shines for the equator
Every time I am with you
I hate those dreadful words:
I will have to see you later

No matter what you say, you will
Always have a place in my heart
But if you leave me, my heart will
Be a dartboard- you will be the dart

-------======`*^

Hemmingway is known to have said, "For a long time now I have tried simply to write the best I can. Sometimes I have good luck and write better than I can." Within writing, that is my goal- and I believe that it takes good luck and a good day to have polished writing. Thanks to all those that have left comments so far- I appreciate you guys taking the time out and telling me what you think.

Expect Part 2 of Monsoon next week and a detail of my day in D.C. It's going to be sweet.

-TWO-12