Time Today

A short set of three surreal situations.

THE TIME TODAY

He gently held the apples through their thick plastic packaging and passed them from one hand to the next carefully directing their bar codes upwards toward the red laser lights. Each apple triggered a beep. One beep, two beeps and three. He was satisfied by the beeps. For him the beeps were assurances, “You’re doing everything right” the beeps said. He smiled at the red laser lights and felt as though they were warming his hands. Next came the four pack of bottled water. They were to present more of a challenge than the apples. They were big and cumbersome and he struggled to get them perfectly under the red laser lights. He felt the pressure, he was losing time and it caused his heart to beat faster. But then came the sickeningly sweet tone of the machine, signalling to him that all was well and that he done everything right. This beep seemed longer to him than the others, it was deeper too.  He was so relieved. He was so proud. He paid and the machine told him to take his shopping bags. He did as he was told and took them.

                Walking away from the self-service machine he suddenly felt alone. He could hear the beeps of the other machines but they were not as good as his beeps. His were more heartfelt beeps. His red laser lights were warmer. What was he doing? He stood there for a moment before continuing toward the exit. When he did so he fell to the ground. The room was spinning all around him. He craved those stupid beeps. The red lasers of other machines twinkled all about him and the inferior beeps sounded in his head. He began to vomit on the floor of the supermarket and a passing stranger who had rushed to help him slipped on the reddish brown liquid spewing from his nose and mouth. Her head had split open and he saw her beautifully red blood begin to slide into his vomit. He lay his head down on the apples in their packaging and began to dream of beeps and lasers.

 

 

She took the little receipt from the machine and sat down at the back of the bus. She was relieved not to have to sit next to anyone. As it happened she managed to take the last unoccupied pair of seats. She placed her bag on the seat next to her so nobody could use it. A buried mumble sounded from her bag. It was her mobile phone and she opened it with a sigh. After reading the message she put the phone between her thighs and waited for someone better to text her. But whoever would? Looking out the window, she frowned. She frowned on all the tower blocks, she frowned on the men in tracksuits walking their big dogs and she frowned on the children in football t-shirts riding their bicycles alongside the bus, trying to keep up. She wanted to lift open the window and scream, “You’ll never catch a bus you morons it’s too fast for your puny legs you morons!” One day she might.

                The bus came to a busy bus stop and silently, to herself, she began to chant “keep going keep going keep going.” The bus stopped with a hiss and into it flooded track-suited black men and ludicrously old women. One stupidly old woman walked all the way to where she was sitting and asked her if “it wouldn't be too much trouble to move your bag please?” She glared at the old woman. She glared for so long that it became awkward. She continued to glare until word of it spread about the bus. People began to tell her to move the bag. One person threw half of a McDonald’s sandwich at her -it missed. Her lips began to quiver and she clenched her hands together in fists. She was blinking erratically and then she suddenly wailed. The effort it took tore up her throat and she could swear that it was bleeding. She howled for ten seconds before she could howl no longer. Clutching her throat she resumed her glare. A man came over and took the old lady gently by the arm and offered her his seat.

 

 

 

He was happy, he was focused. Watching the soldiers march by perfectly synchronised reminded him of his Father. He clapped in time with their boots. The tips of the black metal knives of the ends of their machine guns caught the sun in such a way it made him tear up. They looked to him so handsome in their berets and their boots. He turned to the woman next to him and proudly said “I could watch them forever.” She said that she could as well but he knew that she was lying. There was no way that she could watch them forever. No, for him it took a special type of person to be able to watch armed men in berets and black boots march by forever. On they went, marching down the street. His clapping fell increasingly out of sync with their marching.

                “And the flags” he said to her “oh the flags!” He managed to take his eyes off the soldiers long enough to admire the boldly bright stripes and dragons on the various banners the men held. He briefly thought how wonderful it would have been if dear old Oswald were here to witness England marching on. What would these feeling lead to? He had not been so stirred for quite some time. He could have died in this moment - honestly, he could. He had actually started to cry at this point. The tears started when the church bells began to ring behind him. It was too perfect for him to bear. The handsome soldiers, the church bells, the flags, his father, the black knives he could not take it all in at once. He gave in to temptation and ran out into the road. The soldiers quickly fell into formation, they had been briefed that there may be some trouble. He ran straight for them. He did not know what exactly he wanted from them; he wanted to drink them in, to hold them, to share stories. Irrespective of what he wanted from them they shot him down. They were trained not to take chances with men running wildly at their ranks. He could not have been happier.

Author's Note

I rather like this one. Criticism is always welcomed.