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Thursday, April 06, 2006
Why We Write III | ![]() |
Part three of the Ministry’s collaborative fiction-writing project is after the break. Previous installments: part 2, part 1.
On this particular day, Alexei disrupted his longstanding lunchtime routine of munching a sandwich with his nose buried in a paperback in order to go to the bank. As menial as his staple-removing job was, he had still managed for the first time in his life to accumulate a little extra money and thought it might be a good time to try to drop that into a savings account. Moreover, whether it was the diesel, allergies, or a cold coming on, Alexei had been growing quite a headache behind his eyes. It was bad enough that he had swallowed a few painkillers and still had to stop sharking staples every so often to shake away stars that crept into the corners of his vision. Maybe some fresh air and a walk would do him good.
The streets around the office building were not too different from the streets around his apartment save for a greater density of brutal concrete architecture. The squat blocky skyscrapers hogged any warmth the sunlight could provide, and created plenty of dim nooks where chilly breezes stirred drifts of plastic bags and discarded paper. This part of downtown was usually quiet, with very few businesses of the type that needed foot traffic, so Alexei’s walk to the nearest branch of Imperial Trust was lonely except for the odd clutch of office girls or homeless people shivering into coats in the weak spring sun.
As he walked, each step thudded behind his eyes and made the world judder like a video feed from a badly-held camera. Things kept happening at the corners of his eyes: shadows resolved themselves into shapes that moved toward him with purpose; green darts leapt around storefront windows; an office girl separated herself from her gaggle to sprout a pair of gigantic white wings and leap into the sky. When he turned his head, Alexei saw a Dumpster, a green pennant flapping on the breeze, a girl in a dirty white raincoat.
Alexei stepped into the warmth of the bank and stopped a moment to massage his head. An attractive woman behind a desk to the left was watching him. As he caught her gaze she said brightly, “Are you here to see someone, sir? In particular?”
“I want to, I...” said Alexei as a wave of pain crashed over him. “...savings account,” he managed to finish.
“Very good sir, won’t-you-have-a-seat-I-won’t-be-a-minute,” said the woman as she stood and began to walk toward a door in the far wall.
Alexei slumped gratefully into the chair. “Sarah Moloney,” he said to himself absently as his eyes skipped around her nearly bare desk, found her nameplate, and settled on the people at the next station. A man in an ugly necktie was helping a tired-looking middle aged couple with a loan application. As Alexei watched, the man’s necktie danced and dangled around the rim of a large coffee mug. As he leaned forward to gesticulate with his pen toward a paragraph at the end of the document, it slipped in.
Alexei leaned forward a bit to say something, and sat back nonplussed as the man’s necktie began to bulge and pulsate rhythmically.
“Good afternoon Mr...” said Sarah Moloney, as she sat down again.
“Hi. I need to...” was as far as Alexei got before another pain-wave broke. “I’m sorry… I’m having the worst day. I have a terrible headache and I might be going, uh, a little crazy. I swear I just saw that guy’s necktie...”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,’ said Sarah Moloney, then leaned in to stage-whisper, “Carl does wear the worst clothes, doesn’t he?” Her face as it came closer seemed pale, her smile a little frozen. She leaned back and picked up a glossy brochure from her desk. “Savings account was it, sir?” Sarah Moloney’s knuckles were white on the brochure, and the tip of a turquoise pump visible under her desk quivered.
“That’s right, but… I think I’d better go. I’m seeing things. I’ve got this terrible headache. My eyes are killing me.”
“Well then, sir, you’d better try mine,” Sarah Moloney chirped as her thumbs went to her face and began to press. A tiny whimper escaped her throat and her smile slipped the slightest bit as her thumbs disappeared and her eyes popped loose from their sockets.
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