80 lines
4.5 KiB
Plaintext
80 lines
4.5 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Night Sounds
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It was, as they say, a hot night in the city. 3 A.M. I was out on one of my
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nightly forays roller-blading around the town; not anywhere in particular,
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just to do it. I do this for an escape, for exercise, to gather my thoughts,
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and to escape from daily worries and problems in my life. In other words,
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for something to do. As I stopped at a friendly 7-11 for a refreshement
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before I continued, I could feel a tension in the air. Things were happening
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everywhere, and unless you paid attention, you missed it.
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Somewhere a couple was fighting. The obscenities were easy to pick out, as
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was the gist of the problem. He had done something wrong, perhaps many times
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and she was fed up with it. No longer would she be content with a simple
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"I'm sorry." No, she would not shut up, she screamed from her hidden
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location. She wasn't going to go inside either. Most of the details of
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their conversation were hidden from the world, but that wasn't important. The
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intentions of the pair were very clear.
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A car roared through the intersection. There was the distinct sound of music
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being played too loudly. A bottle threw itself from the driver's window and
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landed with a clatter by the side of the road. The doppler effect took over
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as the car hurled its way into its future.
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If the wind blew just perfect, one who was paying attention could hear the
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sound of traffic all throughout the area. Cars roaring down freeways. Big
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trucks carrying their commerce all throughout the country, never stopping.
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Perhaps the distant whine of an emergency vehicle's siren. Somewhere, a
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car alarm was sounding, emitting a warning to all who would dare foul the
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sanctity of its watch.
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A small night bird screamed its shrill nocturnal cry. Insects not hampered
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by the lack of extreme heat nor light made their nightly business. A dog
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barked at some phantom shape. The bird, apparently unsuccessful in its hunt,
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traveled back towards its home.
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Either the couple had come to reconciliation, or the man had finally convinced
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his partner to stop screaming and continue the discussion indoors and at a
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lesser volume. At least, this is what I hope happened. Anything is possible,
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for all we know they could be dead. In any case, the fighting became
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inaudible for all prying ears.
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A motorcycle pulled up to the light. I watched him sit there, waiting for
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the light to change. The rumble of his idling engine made a slow cool
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subharmonic which seemed to amplify the tension in the air. As the light
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changed, the rumble of the engine grew in pitch into a high whine as the
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RPMs increased. I heard him shift through the gears of his transmission as
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he drove off into the night.
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I finished my drink, and skated away into the night.
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The night speaks its own language, stop and listen to it for a while.
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(July 26, 4 a.m.).
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-PsI
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= Questions, comments, bitches, ideas, etc : z3mar@ttacs.ttu.edu : FUCK =
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= Official F.U.C.K. Distribution sites and information =
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= Board Number Other =
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= ----- ------ ----- =
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= Immortal Hate 806.745.8879 World HQ =
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= Ionic Destruction 215.722.0570 Eastern HQ =
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= Culture Shock 717.652.5851 Dist. =
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= PCI 806.794.1438 Dist. =
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= Purple Hell 806.791.0747 Dist. =
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= Celestial Woodlands 806.798.6262 Dist. =
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= Accounts NOT guaranteed on any F.U.C.K. distribution site. If you are =
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= interested in writing for, or in becoming a distribution site for =
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= F.U.C.K. call Immortal Hate, and apply for an account, or mail Dam =
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= at z3mar@ttacs.ttu.edu or on Immortal Hate. Knowledge is power... =
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