Compartments, meridians and the ever fallible truth of discovery

Ethan Switch - Thursday, January 12, 2006 - 11:00:03 - print it raw

Willy is of jet black hair, mild complexion and appears fairly stocky despite having height on his side. Even though he grew up on a hut beside a lake, Willy never was one to swim further than the length of the watery graveyard. A bed of liquid which has claimed the lives of many wayward cattle in years past.

Balding for the respect of fashion models without compunction, Morris was a city dweller. A man rousing on the edge of suburban decay between the hidden nooks of skyscrapers and buildings that need window washers for the first floor. Made of moderate intelligence, his lot in life was riding on the backs of others for success.

Circumstances and chance led both Willy and Morris to ride an elevator together. Chronal faults in the system of pulleys and weights in the shaft turned a seconds long journey into an hour. Trapped in an elevator for one hour, the two swapped stories and tales of their times and lives, unsure of when their rescue would come.

Rambling on and miraculously delirious from the carbon dioxide, despite the compartment being adequately aerated, their discussions took on all flavours. From beating to death homeless men with the tools of buskers and breeding cerise fleeced sheep to stealing corpses of cyclops cats and skinning the flesh off pigs before the harvest.

From a chance meeting, twins met for the first time. From that chance meeting, only one walked out alive from the car an hour later.

On that note...

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