In the year 1995, I was visiting my parents in Korea for the summer. I had a summer job on the Yongsan Army Base. On my way home from work one day, there was an unusual amount of traffic. I got back a little later than usual, but didn't think much of it until we turned on the TV. Every single channel had interrupted their regular broadcast to show the breaking news of the collapse of a department store building. My parent's apartment was only a few blocks from the building. If a fire truck drove by our apartment, it soon showed up on the TV screen, as with any medivac helicopters and ambulances.
The news continued for days as emergency workers toiled night and day in search of survivors. After the fifth day, there were no new survivors found until a miracle on the twelfth day when a young lady was found. There were over fifty people whose bodies were never properly identified. The news of this disaster was eclipsed here in America by the bombing of a building in Oklahoma City, so most of you may not remember the incident. I wrote this story as a tribute to the survivors, the deceased and their families.
Oubliette
So, this is oblivion? Talk about sensory deprivation. The only thing I can feel is my thumb, which I know isn't there anymore because it's been cut off. How ironic that phantom feelings are the only feelings I have left. It hasn't hurt for a while now. I have also become numb to the water that drips on my head from above. I can't see an inch in front of me and the only sounds I hear are muffled thuds from above. All I smell is dust and all I taste is my own bad breath.
My wife hasn't moved her hand in over a day now. I'm still holding it, but it's just not the same anymore. I remember when we first met five years ago. She was working at a Chinese restaurant and I was just a rude customer. Why was I so rude to her? Maybe if I had been nicer. . .but that was years ago. And now she's gone. If I had the tears to, I would mourn her loss in more than just my mind. It seems my mind is all I have left.
I can drink this water that drips constantly on my head, but it never fills me and it is the only nutrition I have. About once every time I awaken, I have certain micturatory necessities. There is no way to rid myself of it except to just let it go. The urine makes the cuts on my legs sting anew every time. I haven't had any solid waste since yesterday. I still feel it pushing against my pants. It has hardened and rubs me uncomfortably any time I make even the slightest movement. What a pain in the ass.
A few new smells have introduced themselves to me. I can now smell my own urine as the puddles begin to spoil. I can smell something that might be my wife.
I hope our dog is OK at home all alone. My co-workers must be wondering where I am. My boss is going to kill me. Some coffee would be great right about now. I could use a good shower and a banquet or two. A feast of roast beef and baked potatoes. Some apple pie with whipped cream on top. A banana split.
Pedestrians. Now there's a nice word. It just rolls off your tongue. The word itself seems too dignified for the definition which we have attached to it. People walking around. What makes them so special?
I tasted something different today. It was bile from my stomach as I heaved a couple times due to the now horrible stench of urine and decay which now pervades everything. Great, now my spilled bile will stink as well.
Mom? Oh, it's just a cockroach. That's something new. The coming days will bring more, I'm sure. If I'm lucky, I might be able to catch one in my mouth for sustenance.
What I really want is a soda. No ice. The entire ice making industry is a sham. How can humanity stand for such a coldly controlling substance? Ice in itself is so unfeelingly influential on any drink in which it is placed except, perhaps, water. It tries to make everything it touches taste more like it. It invades their space and says, "Hey, I know you were created specifically to taste good, but I'm going to melt now and water you down. You will become a shadow of yourself and taste terrible as a result." I shall boycott ice until I die.
Any sentimentality I may have previously felt over the loss of my wife has now been taken over by the incredibly fetid odor which she now emits. Our dog is now dead for sure. The water has taken on a sour flavor which is no longer pleasant to drink. I have to force myself just to gain the necessary liquid. I don't even know anymore why I want to live. Maybe it's because I feel too alive to think that dying would be anything but a strenuous task. The scars on my legs don't hurt anymore when I pee. I swear I feel some dirt under my thumbnail.
I wonder if little Fifi smells as bad yet at home as my wife does here. I have tried to let go of her hand, but it is so tight in its death grip that all I can do is wiggle my fingers. There are cockroaches munching on my hand where my thumb used to be. I can move my hand and scare them away, but I don't even care anymore. It pinches a bit, but it doesn't hurt. They must not be very big roaches. I can't even feel my legs anymore.
Sidewalks are not cool. They're so flat and predictable. Even when they're cracked, it's no big whoop. Pedestrians traverse them, but that's their only saving grace. I managed to catch a cockroach an eat it today. It was bigger than I thought it would be. It was so good to taste something other than this sour water which I have been drinking. Kind of nutty and slightly salty. I still have a bit of its leg stuck between my teeth. The thumping sounds above have gotten increasingly louder since I woke up.
Here's something new--light. I wonder if that's a good thing.
"We have a live on here. I repeat, we have a live one here. Hang in there, buddy. We'll get you out. I need some help over here!"
Can't this guy see that we're busy?
"Don't move. Everything will be OK. My name is Steve. What's yours?"
Blah blah blah. I wonder if he has any cockroaches.
"I've located a survivor. Repeat, this man is alive. Help is on it's way. Are you hurt?"
Leave us alone and turn that light off!
"We haven't found any new survivors since Tuesday and this bullshit started last Friday. We've had rescuers working day and night looking for survivors. You've been here for seven days. Are you hurt anywhere?"
Hey buddy, get a clue. My wife and I are trying to sleep here. Look at that. You made that water stop dripping. Now what am I supposed to drink? Unless you have some cockroaches, I'd say you'd better just leave before I get really upset.
"It's amazing that you're still alive after so long. The whole world has gone to shit. No one knows what's going on. They say it's the end of the world."
Alright! Now I'm mad. You're lucky I can't move my arms or legs because I'd knock your block off, chuck.
"I'm glad to see that you are OK. It must have been horrible to be stuck like that."
What is this lunacy? Get out of here! Look, my dog is probably dead, my boss has probably fired me by now and I don't want whatever it is you're selling. I'm not listening anymore. La la la la. . .
The news continued for days as emergency workers toiled night and day in search of survivors. After the fifth day, there were no new survivors found until a miracle on the twelfth day when a young lady was found. There were over fifty people whose bodies were never properly identified. The news of this disaster was eclipsed here in America by the bombing of a building in Oklahoma City, so most of you may not remember the incident. I wrote this story as a tribute to the survivors, the deceased and their families.
Oubliette
So, this is oblivion? Talk about sensory deprivation. The only thing I can feel is my thumb, which I know isn't there anymore because it's been cut off. How ironic that phantom feelings are the only feelings I have left. It hasn't hurt for a while now. I have also become numb to the water that drips on my head from above. I can't see an inch in front of me and the only sounds I hear are muffled thuds from above. All I smell is dust and all I taste is my own bad breath.
My wife hasn't moved her hand in over a day now. I'm still holding it, but it's just not the same anymore. I remember when we first met five years ago. She was working at a Chinese restaurant and I was just a rude customer. Why was I so rude to her? Maybe if I had been nicer. . .but that was years ago. And now she's gone. If I had the tears to, I would mourn her loss in more than just my mind. It seems my mind is all I have left.
I can drink this water that drips constantly on my head, but it never fills me and it is the only nutrition I have. About once every time I awaken, I have certain micturatory necessities. There is no way to rid myself of it except to just let it go. The urine makes the cuts on my legs sting anew every time. I haven't had any solid waste since yesterday. I still feel it pushing against my pants. It has hardened and rubs me uncomfortably any time I make even the slightest movement. What a pain in the ass.
A few new smells have introduced themselves to me. I can now smell my own urine as the puddles begin to spoil. I can smell something that might be my wife.
I hope our dog is OK at home all alone. My co-workers must be wondering where I am. My boss is going to kill me. Some coffee would be great right about now. I could use a good shower and a banquet or two. A feast of roast beef and baked potatoes. Some apple pie with whipped cream on top. A banana split.
Pedestrians. Now there's a nice word. It just rolls off your tongue. The word itself seems too dignified for the definition which we have attached to it. People walking around. What makes them so special?
I tasted something different today. It was bile from my stomach as I heaved a couple times due to the now horrible stench of urine and decay which now pervades everything. Great, now my spilled bile will stink as well.
Mom? Oh, it's just a cockroach. That's something new. The coming days will bring more, I'm sure. If I'm lucky, I might be able to catch one in my mouth for sustenance.
What I really want is a soda. No ice. The entire ice making industry is a sham. How can humanity stand for such a coldly controlling substance? Ice in itself is so unfeelingly influential on any drink in which it is placed except, perhaps, water. It tries to make everything it touches taste more like it. It invades their space and says, "Hey, I know you were created specifically to taste good, but I'm going to melt now and water you down. You will become a shadow of yourself and taste terrible as a result." I shall boycott ice until I die.
Any sentimentality I may have previously felt over the loss of my wife has now been taken over by the incredibly fetid odor which she now emits. Our dog is now dead for sure. The water has taken on a sour flavor which is no longer pleasant to drink. I have to force myself just to gain the necessary liquid. I don't even know anymore why I want to live. Maybe it's because I feel too alive to think that dying would be anything but a strenuous task. The scars on my legs don't hurt anymore when I pee. I swear I feel some dirt under my thumbnail.
I wonder if little Fifi smells as bad yet at home as my wife does here. I have tried to let go of her hand, but it is so tight in its death grip that all I can do is wiggle my fingers. There are cockroaches munching on my hand where my thumb used to be. I can move my hand and scare them away, but I don't even care anymore. It pinches a bit, but it doesn't hurt. They must not be very big roaches. I can't even feel my legs anymore.
Sidewalks are not cool. They're so flat and predictable. Even when they're cracked, it's no big whoop. Pedestrians traverse them, but that's their only saving grace. I managed to catch a cockroach an eat it today. It was bigger than I thought it would be. It was so good to taste something other than this sour water which I have been drinking. Kind of nutty and slightly salty. I still have a bit of its leg stuck between my teeth. The thumping sounds above have gotten increasingly louder since I woke up.
Here's something new--light. I wonder if that's a good thing.
"We have a live on here. I repeat, we have a live one here. Hang in there, buddy. We'll get you out. I need some help over here!"
Can't this guy see that we're busy?
"Don't move. Everything will be OK. My name is Steve. What's yours?"
Blah blah blah. I wonder if he has any cockroaches.
"I've located a survivor. Repeat, this man is alive. Help is on it's way. Are you hurt?"
Leave us alone and turn that light off!
"We haven't found any new survivors since Tuesday and this bullshit started last Friday. We've had rescuers working day and night looking for survivors. You've been here for seven days. Are you hurt anywhere?"
Hey buddy, get a clue. My wife and I are trying to sleep here. Look at that. You made that water stop dripping. Now what am I supposed to drink? Unless you have some cockroaches, I'd say you'd better just leave before I get really upset.
"It's amazing that you're still alive after so long. The whole world has gone to shit. No one knows what's going on. They say it's the end of the world."
Alright! Now I'm mad. You're lucky I can't move my arms or legs because I'd knock your block off, chuck.
"I'm glad to see that you are OK. It must have been horrible to be stuck like that."
What is this lunacy? Get out of here! Look, my dog is probably dead, my boss has probably fired me by now and I don't want whatever it is you're selling. I'm not listening anymore. La la la la. . .
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