Assignment #1 The Machine
The following story is my first piece written for ENG 088 at BMCC. It is also the first time I have subjected myself to being graded in more than a decade. I should get a grade on this Thursday. I will keep you all informed. Thanks!
The characters in the story below have no names per se. They are called He and She, these two characters represent millions of people all over the world. Infer their identity at your own risk.
He had it all. The world was his stage, playground and toilet. All was for him and people that were not of his ilk were to serve him. It’s not his fault; the machine was already in place when he gracefully popped out of his mother’s golden upper crust womb. It’s not his fault that his place was to consume the earth’s treasures and produce its waste.
She had nothing, nothing but her life and the person who accidentally gave her breath. The world, if she were lucky, would be her kitchen to clean, garbage dump to pick food out of and a stage for her misery. It’s not her fault that the world says she and her ilk are lazy and deserve their fate. It’s not her fault that her place was to produce the world’s treasures and consume its waste. The machine was already in place when she screamed her way out of the wound in her mother’s belly.
He did really have it all. How could he not? His life was planned generations before and he was to be the recipient of wealth and power of his distinguished lineage. The mother had an eternal smile, her mind a Prozac wonderland. The father had the weight of expectation of success on his shoulders (although the multiple zeros in his bank account did ease that pressure a bit). This drove him to make sure his son was better and richer than he. The young mans parents were just two of many people he had in his corner. He also had his parent’s friends who were bankers, lawyers, judges, molders of society’s fabric. They had friends as well who were congressmen and senators and one had even had dinner with an ex president. Oh what a life forthcoming, for He.
She really didn’t have shit. Everyday was but a reminder of this unsavory truth. Her mother also had multiple zeros in her bank account, but no crooked numbers leading the parade of those fat ugly zeros. This woman had been “planning” the birth of She for the past 5 months. It’s hard to plan your pregnancy when one does not know. She not only had half of a family unit who worked incessantly, but she also had her mother’s friends who were maids, plumbers, janitors and security guards. And they had friends who were assistant managers at Mc Donald’s and other wonderful establishments of filth consumption. One even became manager once.
He now was starting to become a young adult. His future was already planned out. School paid for, jobs waiting for him. A wife (preferably of the step ford variety) already dancing around in his mind. As he was finishing school he learned of how mommy and daddy got rich and how their friends got rich. But the most important lesson he learned was how they stayed that way. He learned about the machine and its lifeblood, war.
She was now being thrust into womanhood. Her future seemingly planned out. She was done with her lousy schooling and now she was waiting for a lousy job. A man (preferably of the superman variety) strutted around in her mind and at times in real life in her bedroom. Unfortunately he was man in name only. She realized early on she will be her own shoulder to cry on, if there was time for crying. As life went on She followed more important pursuits: finding out how she got here in this rut and how to get out of it. She schooled herself and started to realize how the poor got poor and how their friends got poor. The most important lesson she learned however was how they stayed poor. She learned about the machine and its lifeblood, war.
He loved his life, his family and his church. He was your model citizen, but it wasn’t enough. It was not enough that he became an updated version of his parents, generation 2.0. For some reason he was not satisfied that he made enough income so that he and his wife and three girlfriends can have a secure life. No, he wanted a say in how the money moved around inside the machine. The machine that has treated him so well since his mother’s blood was wiped from his wrinkled body. He wanted to see how he could make money off his and other people’s money. He learned the secret of wanting more, always wanting more. This was his end, the means mattered not.
She was now sick. Sick and tired of the same old same old. The struggle to keep sane was paramount. She had enough of the 50 hr work weeks and the long commute home. She had enough of the constant nagging from her mother about getting married and becoming a real woman. She agreed she wanted to become a real woman but thought marriage had nothing to do with it. She wanted more than this machine, this machine that has spit on her since the doctor slapped her mother’s blood off her ass to get her to realize she was now part of this. Some days she wishes that the doctor had never slapped her. Most days she wants to slap back, and to find people who also wanted to slap back with her, so all this would end. Not just for her but for everyone who was willing to hit back. This was the end, the means mattered not.
He finally did it. Yes, all this time he had wanted to take his family to this strange land. He had always seen it on TV and now it was reality for him and his family. The unusual animals and landscapes would be so beautiful. Not to mention the people, how entertaining will they be!! This trip served a dual purpose as He was here to hammer out agreements on control of his mines and his factories. Mines that vomit diamonds and factories that vomit hundred dollar sneakers. He didn’t realize, or mind that these mines also vomited the blood of its workers and its child soldiers that protected them from rivals. After all the machine needed liquid to keep itself well lubricated so it can keep grinding.
She finally did it. She and her friends picked up a gun. They had thought long and hard about this. Not about violence versus non violence but whom to inflict the violence on. They had read about and focused their anger on those who kept this machine alive. Namely the politicians and those who protect them: security guards, policeman and the paramilitary officers. She and her friends bribed most of them and killed the rest. She didn’t realize, or mind that she was now destroying so many families. These were people who would not slap back, so they had to be punished (this is how her mind reasoned away the sin). They held up banks and bought more guns. They also took over factories and mines, the places where blood flowed. All the places the machine needed to produce the lubricant so it can keep grinding. She will stop the grinding.
He couldn’t figure it out. He had come, with his family all the way to this strange land, and this is how he is thanked, by his mines and factories being taken over? These places were his property he thought. He didn’t fly thousands of miles to let strangers take over his property. That would be like having random people ransack thru your house he thought. Who were these people, these darker people? Weren’t these people happy he built these mines and these factories so now they can have meager salaries? These darker people seemed happy to him when they welcomed their family at the airport with their happy songs played on strange instruments. Those who weren’t happy were just crazy he thought. This strange land would be better off if these unhappy people were hidden away, disappeared. It would all be ok in the end the machine will sort itself out, he thought. But not everyone was convinced of his optimism. How would everything get back to normal, to the time when the machine was doing the slapping instead of being slapped? He was now called to employ the lessons learned about economy’s other face, war. War will sort it all out he hoped. All was better now, the machine was starting to slap back.
She couldn’t figure it out. She and the others had done so much. She had put the other Shes and the downtrodden Hes in charge but not much had changed. They were all still poor. This fight they thought had ended was just beginning. She thought she had seen the last of the rich but she and her cohorts were still being attacked by them. But these rich were different. They did not look like her. They spoke strangely and fought strangely. She saw in them the beating heart of the machine, and from this she and her friends gathered courage. These agents of the machine killed everyone; women, babies and old men. What she was most concerned with though was eventually they would kill all those who were willing to pierce the heart of the machine. Could she kill as they did and if so what would that make her? What would that make her cohorts, her comrades, her friends? Does this even matter?
As She thought this the well lubricated Machine continued to grind untold numbers. The blood of the maids, plumbers, janitors and of She made it so. The machine would never have to worry for thirst, because there will always be blood to quench it. That is the end. The means matter not.
The characters in the story below have no names per se. They are called He and She, these two characters represent millions of people all over the world. Infer their identity at your own risk.
The Machine
He had it all. The world was his stage, playground and toilet. All was for him and people that were not of his ilk were to serve him. It’s not his fault; the machine was already in place when he gracefully popped out of his mother’s golden upper crust womb. It’s not his fault that his place was to consume the earth’s treasures and produce its waste.
She had nothing, nothing but her life and the person who accidentally gave her breath. The world, if she were lucky, would be her kitchen to clean, garbage dump to pick food out of and a stage for her misery. It’s not her fault that the world says she and her ilk are lazy and deserve their fate. It’s not her fault that her place was to produce the world’s treasures and consume its waste. The machine was already in place when she screamed her way out of the wound in her mother’s belly.
He did really have it all. How could he not? His life was planned generations before and he was to be the recipient of wealth and power of his distinguished lineage. The mother had an eternal smile, her mind a Prozac wonderland. The father had the weight of expectation of success on his shoulders (although the multiple zeros in his bank account did ease that pressure a bit). This drove him to make sure his son was better and richer than he. The young mans parents were just two of many people he had in his corner. He also had his parent’s friends who were bankers, lawyers, judges, molders of society’s fabric. They had friends as well who were congressmen and senators and one had even had dinner with an ex president. Oh what a life forthcoming, for He.
She really didn’t have shit. Everyday was but a reminder of this unsavory truth. Her mother also had multiple zeros in her bank account, but no crooked numbers leading the parade of those fat ugly zeros. This woman had been “planning” the birth of She for the past 5 months. It’s hard to plan your pregnancy when one does not know. She not only had half of a family unit who worked incessantly, but she also had her mother’s friends who were maids, plumbers, janitors and security guards. And they had friends who were assistant managers at Mc Donald’s and other wonderful establishments of filth consumption. One even became manager once.
He now was starting to become a young adult. His future was already planned out. School paid for, jobs waiting for him. A wife (preferably of the step ford variety) already dancing around in his mind. As he was finishing school he learned of how mommy and daddy got rich and how their friends got rich. But the most important lesson he learned was how they stayed that way. He learned about the machine and its lifeblood, war.
She was now being thrust into womanhood. Her future seemingly planned out. She was done with her lousy schooling and now she was waiting for a lousy job. A man (preferably of the superman variety) strutted around in her mind and at times in real life in her bedroom. Unfortunately he was man in name only. She realized early on she will be her own shoulder to cry on, if there was time for crying. As life went on She followed more important pursuits: finding out how she got here in this rut and how to get out of it. She schooled herself and started to realize how the poor got poor and how their friends got poor. The most important lesson she learned however was how they stayed poor. She learned about the machine and its lifeblood, war.
He loved his life, his family and his church. He was your model citizen, but it wasn’t enough. It was not enough that he became an updated version of his parents, generation 2.0. For some reason he was not satisfied that he made enough income so that he and his wife and three girlfriends can have a secure life. No, he wanted a say in how the money moved around inside the machine. The machine that has treated him so well since his mother’s blood was wiped from his wrinkled body. He wanted to see how he could make money off his and other people’s money. He learned the secret of wanting more, always wanting more. This was his end, the means mattered not.
She was now sick. Sick and tired of the same old same old. The struggle to keep sane was paramount. She had enough of the 50 hr work weeks and the long commute home. She had enough of the constant nagging from her mother about getting married and becoming a real woman. She agreed she wanted to become a real woman but thought marriage had nothing to do with it. She wanted more than this machine, this machine that has spit on her since the doctor slapped her mother’s blood off her ass to get her to realize she was now part of this. Some days she wishes that the doctor had never slapped her. Most days she wants to slap back, and to find people who also wanted to slap back with her, so all this would end. Not just for her but for everyone who was willing to hit back. This was the end, the means mattered not.
He finally did it. Yes, all this time he had wanted to take his family to this strange land. He had always seen it on TV and now it was reality for him and his family. The unusual animals and landscapes would be so beautiful. Not to mention the people, how entertaining will they be!! This trip served a dual purpose as He was here to hammer out agreements on control of his mines and his factories. Mines that vomit diamonds and factories that vomit hundred dollar sneakers. He didn’t realize, or mind that these mines also vomited the blood of its workers and its child soldiers that protected them from rivals. After all the machine needed liquid to keep itself well lubricated so it can keep grinding.
She finally did it. She and her friends picked up a gun. They had thought long and hard about this. Not about violence versus non violence but whom to inflict the violence on. They had read about and focused their anger on those who kept this machine alive. Namely the politicians and those who protect them: security guards, policeman and the paramilitary officers. She and her friends bribed most of them and killed the rest. She didn’t realize, or mind that she was now destroying so many families. These were people who would not slap back, so they had to be punished (this is how her mind reasoned away the sin). They held up banks and bought more guns. They also took over factories and mines, the places where blood flowed. All the places the machine needed to produce the lubricant so it can keep grinding. She will stop the grinding.
He couldn’t figure it out. He had come, with his family all the way to this strange land, and this is how he is thanked, by his mines and factories being taken over? These places were his property he thought. He didn’t fly thousands of miles to let strangers take over his property. That would be like having random people ransack thru your house he thought. Who were these people, these darker people? Weren’t these people happy he built these mines and these factories so now they can have meager salaries? These darker people seemed happy to him when they welcomed their family at the airport with their happy songs played on strange instruments. Those who weren’t happy were just crazy he thought. This strange land would be better off if these unhappy people were hidden away, disappeared. It would all be ok in the end the machine will sort itself out, he thought. But not everyone was convinced of his optimism. How would everything get back to normal, to the time when the machine was doing the slapping instead of being slapped? He was now called to employ the lessons learned about economy’s other face, war. War will sort it all out he hoped. All was better now, the machine was starting to slap back.
She couldn’t figure it out. She and the others had done so much. She had put the other Shes and the downtrodden Hes in charge but not much had changed. They were all still poor. This fight they thought had ended was just beginning. She thought she had seen the last of the rich but she and her cohorts were still being attacked by them. But these rich were different. They did not look like her. They spoke strangely and fought strangely. She saw in them the beating heart of the machine, and from this she and her friends gathered courage. These agents of the machine killed everyone; women, babies and old men. What she was most concerned with though was eventually they would kill all those who were willing to pierce the heart of the machine. Could she kill as they did and if so what would that make her? What would that make her cohorts, her comrades, her friends? Does this even matter?
As She thought this the well lubricated Machine continued to grind untold numbers. The blood of the maids, plumbers, janitors and of She made it so. The machine would never have to worry for thirst, because there will always be blood to quench it. That is the end. The means matter not.
posted by djshoghi at
1:51 PM
