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| alt.music.pink-floyd | Worshipping David Gilmour & Roger Waters | 4,347 messages |
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| Message 2,352 of 4,347 |
| a_rod_777 to All |
| Fascinating... (1/2) |
| 02 Jan 18 14:28:27 |
From: a_rod_777@yahoo.com Eight O’Clock in the Morning At the end of the show the hypnotist told his subjects, "Awake." Something unusual happened. One of the subjects awoke all the way. This had never happened before. His name was George Nada and he blinked out at the sea of faces in the theatre, at first unaware of anything out of the ordinary. Then he noticed, spotted here and there in the crowd, the non-human faces, the faces of the Fascinators. They had been there all along, of course, but only George was really awake, so only George recognized them for what they were. He understood everything in a flash, including the fact that if he were to give any outward sign, the Fascinators would instantly command him to return to his former state, and he would obey. He left the theatre, pushing out into the neon night, carefully avoiding any indication that he saw the green, reptilian flesh or the multiple yellow eyes of the rulers of the earth. One of them asked him, “Got a light buddy?” George gave him a light, then moved on. At intervals along the street George saw the posters hanging with photographs of the Fascinators’ multiple eyes and various commands printed under them, such as, “Work eight hours, play eight hours, sleept eight hours,” and “Marry and Reproduce. A TV set in the window of a store caught George’s eye, but he looked away in the nick of time. When he didn’t look at the Fascinator in the screen, he could resist the command, “Stay tuned to this station.” George lived alone in a little sleeping room, and as soon as he got home, the first thing he did was to disconnect the TV set. In other rooms he could hear the TV sets of his neighbors, though. Most of the time the voices were human, but now and then he heard the arrogant, strangely bird-like croaks of the aliens. “Obey the government,” said one croak. "We are the government, " said another. “We are your friends, you’d do anything for a friend, wouldn’t you?” “Obey!” “Work!” Suddenly the phone rang. George picked it up. It was one of the Fascinators. “Hello,” it squawked. “This is your control, Chief of Police Robinson. You are an old man, George Nada. Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, your heart will stop. Please repeat.” “I am an old man,” said George. “Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, my heart will stop.” The control hung up “No, it wont,” whispered George. He wondered why they wanted him dead. Did they suspect that he was awake? Probably. Someone might have spotted him, noticed that he didn’t respond the way the others did. If George were alive at one minute after eight tomorrow morning, then they would be sure. “No use waiting here for the end,” he thought. He went out again. The posters, the TV, the occasional commands from passing aliens did not seem to have absolute power over him, though he still felt strongly tempted to obey, to see things the way his master wanted him to see them. He passed an alley and stopped. One of the aliens was alone there, leaning against the wall. George walked up to him. “Move on,” grunted the thing, focusing his deadly eyes on George. George felt his grasp on awareness waver. For a moment the reptilian head dissolved into the face of a lovable old drunk. Of course the drunk would be lovable. George picked up a brick and smashed it down on the old drunk’s head with all his strength. For a moment the image blurred, then the blue-green blood oozed out of the face and the lizrd fell, twitching and writhing. After a moment it was dead. George dragged the body into the shadows and searched it. There was a tiny radio in its pocket and a curiously shaped knife and fork in another. The tiny radio said something in an incomprehensible language. George put it down beside the body, but kept the eating utensils. “I can’t possibly escape,” thought George. “Why fight them?” But maybe he could. What if he could awaken others? That might be worth a try. He walked twelve blocks to the apartment of his girl friend, Lil, and knocked on her door. She came to the door in her bathrobe. “I want you to wake up,” he said “I’m awake,” she said. “Come on in.” He went in. The TV was playing. He turned it off. “No,” he said. “I mean really wake up.” She looked at him without comprehension, so he snapped his fingers and shouted, “Wake up! The masters command that you wake up!” “Are you off your rocker, George?” she asked suspiciously. “You sure are acting funny.” He slapped her face. “Cut that out!” she cried, “What the hell are you up to anyway?” “Nothing,” said George, defeated. “I was just kidding around.” “Slapping my face wasn’t just kidding around!” she cried. There was a knock at the door. George opened it. It was one of the aliens. “Can’t you keep the noise down to a dull roar?” it said. The eyes and reptilian flesh faded a little and George saw the flickering image of a fat middle-aged man in shirtsleeves. It was still a man when George slashed its throat with the eating knife, but it was an alien before it hit the floor. He dragged it into the apartment and kicked the door shut. “What do you see there?” he asked Lil, pointing to the many-eyed snake thing on the floor. “Mister…Mister Coney,” she whispered, her eyes wide with horror. “You…just killed him, like it was nothing at all.” “Don’t scream,” warned George, advancing on her. “I won’t George. I swear I won’t, only please, for the love of God, put down that knife.” She backed away until she had her shoulder blades pressed to the wall. George saw that it was no use. “I’m going to tie you up,” said George. “First tell me which room Mister Coney lived in.” “The first door on your left as you go toward teh stairs,” she said. “Georgie…Georgie. Don’t torture me. If you’re going to kill me, do it clean. Please, Georgie, please.” He tied her up with bedsheets and gagged her, then searched the body of the Fascinator. There was another one of the little radios that talked a foreign language, another set of eating utensils, and nothing else. George went next door. When he knocked, one of the snake-things answered, “Who is it?” “Friend of Mister Coney. I wanna see him,” said George. [continued in next message] --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05 * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2) |
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