168 lines
8.8 KiB
Plaintext
168 lines
8.8 KiB
Plaintext
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### ###
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### ### ##### ### ###
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########## ### ### ##########
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Underground eXperts United
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Presents...
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## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ##
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[ Angel ] [ By The GNN ]
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____________________________________________________________________
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____________________________________________________________________
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"ANGEL"
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by THE GNN/DualCrew(?)-Shining(?)/uXu
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This is it, he thought. He balanced at the edge of the rail to his
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balcony, staring at the hard black wet asphalt fifty storeys down. His mind
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was made up; this was it. Slowly, his body leaned backwards then forwards,
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soon he would close his eyes and drop. Even though it was in the middle of
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the night, the street below was crowded with cars, their headlights and
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growling engines made the night less lonely.
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He did not want to die alone, he pondered. Then he felt the chilly, wet
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breeze against his chin as he fell.
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Someone tapped on his shoulder. He did not turn around. He did not even
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say a word. He just sat there, in front of his typewriter. A blank paper
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revealed that he had not done any work this day either.
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"Jones?" the familiar and horrible female voice said behind him.
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He looked at the blank paper. His hands rested in his lap. He had been
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sitting like that the whole afternoon in his small office.
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"(For Christ sake), Jones!" the voice repeated.
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"Yeah?" he mumbled without turning around.
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The secretary leaned over his shoulder and placed an envelope on his
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desk. It had his name neatly printed on the front. He did not move.
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"I don't know about your problems, Jones." the secretary said. "But
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this..."
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She hesitated. Jones knew that she had taken her round red glasses off.
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She always did that after a while of hopeless conversation with him. He
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felt her sour breath against his head.
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"This," she continued. "Is... it. Our great leader at this charming
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institution have decided to sack a mutual friend of ours. However, I do
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not know him that well, and I really, oh really, wonder if you really
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know him at all nowadays."
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She left and slammed the door shut behind him. He let his eyes wander
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over the neatly typed letter inside the envelope even though he already knew
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that he was fired and forgotten.
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Jones opened his eyes and quickly realized that he was far from dead.
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Joy was not at all suitable at this moment, he thought, and forced his mind
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to become depressed again.
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Then he looked around.
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He was on his balcony, had he fallen in the wrong direction? No, he
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concluded. He was over one hundred percent sure that he had fallen forward.
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He was not an idiot.
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But this was not his balcony. It was however a similar one, all of them
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did tend to look the same in his building. He got to his feet, feeling
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dizzy and confused for a few seconds. He had landed on a thick striped
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mattress, one that was awfully dirty and revolting. He looked over the edge.
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Incredible, he must have fallen quite a bit - the street was only around
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twenty feet down. From this height the cars made a terrible noise.
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He wondered how he had gotten to this particular balcony. A strong wind
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perhaps?
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To jump yet another time was out of the question. The chances of dying
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had radically decreased. So he decided to enter the apartment.
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The door to the balcony was open, so he had no problem of getting inside.
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It was completely dark, but he knew that he was in someone's bedroom (the
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apartments were all alike too). He could not hear anyone snore or breathe
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from the place where the bed ought to be. He headed for the door. It
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was not hard to find.
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A man sat on a chair beside a table in the kitchen as he entered. Jones
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did not recognize the individual. He was short, bald and wore a stained
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tank-top. A naked light bulb in the ceiling spread a hard light over the
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little man. He sat like a loser, face filled with sadness, and he held a
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little revolver in his right hand. The barrel pointed at the floor.
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"Hey you!" Jones shouted from the door.
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The man made a little shriek and turned to Jones. "Who the... hell...
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are you?" he asked while his eyes turned bigger and bigger.
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"I'm from the top floor. Just passing by, or something."
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The man opened his mouth and did not close it until Jones told him to
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do so, since it looked so incredible ridiculous.
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"Ridiculous..." the man muttered. "True, I am ridiculous."
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"What are you up to?" Jones asked.
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The man explained: he had also lost his job today. Now he was going to
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use the only bullet he owned to kill himself with his little gun. Jones
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said that he knew how the man felt, but the man just waved with his free
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hand and sneered. "You know nothing," the man said.
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Jones felt annoyed. Who was this man that dared to question his feelings?
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Jones had actually jumped, failed big time - but anyway! This man had not
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even shot himself yet. How could he claim that he knew about misery then?
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"Listen to me," Jones said. "I know everything there is to know about
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failure. In my case, we are talking about Mister Failure Supreme, all
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categories considered, with cheese on top. But never mind..."
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The man pushed a chair in Jones direction with his foot. Jones still
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stood by the door to the bedroom. He walked to the chair and sat down. The
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man offered him a Kent cigarette, but Jones kindly refused it.
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"What's your name?" Jones asked.
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The man just stared at the wall in front of him.
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"You name?" Jones repeated, this time almost screaming.
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"Uh, name, uh, mine? Uh?"
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"Yes, you do have a name I guess? Or were you born without one?"
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"Michael... Michael Glover."
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"Nathan Jones. Pleased to meet you."
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The man exhaled a cloud of white smoke and sighed. "Nathan..."
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"Yes, my name is Nathan. Do you need to repeat it twenty times before
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get it into your tight little mind? I have this gift you know, I can
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see when people are utterly stupid."
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The man suddenly came to life. "What the hell are you telling me?"
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"I can see when people are... idiots."
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"What the hell are you saying? Are you insinuating, in my own home,
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that I am ... stupid? Is that what you are saying? You stumble into my
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home to... insult me?!"
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Jones laughed and quoted with a dark voice: "You schtumble into mah
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home to.. inschult moi!"
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The man raised a finger but Jones were quicker: "I am not holding a
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gun in my hand. I am not on my way to kill myself. You are! Who's the
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sad clown in this room if I may ask?"
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Silence. He seems to get the point, Jones thought. They said nothing
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for a while. Their eyes did not leave each others. The man had a surprised
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look in his face, Jones remained serious.
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"Yes..." the man said. "Yes..."
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"A man may be a king for a day and a fool for a lifetime. So what? Those
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who try to kill themselves, however, will not even be king for a single
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minute. They are the (Jones emphasized 'the') complete losers. Trust me on
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this one, I have a... certain education."
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The man placed the gun on the table. Then he began to cry. "Why... who
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are you?"
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"As I said, Nathan Jones. Professional loser, like you."
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The man wiped away a tear. "You're not a loser, Nathan, you're an angel.
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A dark angel from heaven!" (Jones suddenly noticed that he still wore his
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black suit, he had not taken it off when he came home from his ex-work
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this day). "I truly believe that you have saved me."
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"Perhaps," Jones answered with a low voice. Then he quickly reached for
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the gun and fired the last bullet into his mouth.
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////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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Welcome to the monkey house!
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Tickets available at GNN@KRILLE.UPDATE.UU.SE
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I've got the poison.
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------
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uXu #256 Underground eXperts United 1995 uXu #256
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Call DESTINY STONE II -> +61-924-62553
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