Art: Written Word

one hundred ninety seven seconds

Darkness and Silence as the perfect camouflage. When you shut up and close your eyes you're the only thing left to deal with.

She stares at teeth scraped knuckles and emaciated body in the mirror. She wonders how much chrome it would take to fill the void behind her glassy eyes.

He looks over the wigs on the desk while she waits in her new body. Motionless on the stool provided for her. He chooses a brown wig that falls in loose curls. She doesn't blink as he walks around her fitting the wig to her brand new metal skull. He steps back and examines it, the hair reachs all the way down to the small of her back, very fitting he thinks and smiles. She is told to pick a color of lipstick and chooses a light shade of pink, a touch of a button and her lips change to the appropriate shade, matching eyeshadow appears on her metal eyelids. A darker complimentary shade colors the space designed to be her fingernails, he removes the cord connecting her to the temrinal. She stands up, puts on the provided garments for asthetic purposes only and leaves to her assigned task.

Twenty Ton Hammer In A Ten Gallon Hat!!

He sits in a hotel room fourteen floors over the street staring at a television showing some old black and white show. He doesn't know what it's called. He is watching the ancient mechanical alarm clock that sits on top of the television. It slowly counts down seconds with a red second hand.

She rides the elevator up to floor twelve of the fancy hotel with plush carpet. She walks down a hall, seven inch stilleto heels leaving pin-prick marks as she walks balanced perfectly by internal gyroscopes. She enters room twelve-fourteen.

He sits in the brick hotel. The alarm clock goes off with a loud ringing noise. He gets up and turns it off by pressing a button on the top. He pulls a beige colored, dented suitcase with peeling sides out from under the bed and opens it.

Brushed titanium fingertips slide over platinum skin. The old man stares at her perfectly shaped body, engineered curves of polished metal reflecting lights dully shining down from the ceiling. She removes the simple black coat, metal nipples point at him. She removes the black skirt to reveal more smooth metal. She smiles from carefully articulating pink metal lips set below glass eyes. 'Make sure he is sitting in front of the window' a mental note reminds her.

He puts together a rifle slowly, carefully. Feeling each piece, studying it before putting it in place. He adds a silencer. He adds a sight. He opens the window and looks at the glass and steel hotel across the street. There is a light on floor twelve. It reveals the a man sitting in a chair. On the floor in front of him is a chromed woman sucking him off. The man's face is neutral. He aims carefully for a minute.

She sits up, looks up at the headless body. She gets up and goes into the bathroom. A shower rinses the bits of blood, bone and brains from her wig and flawless chromed body. She dresses back into the skirt and jacket. She leaves.

He closes the window. Takes the rifle apart and places it back in the suitcase. Closes it. The alarm clock is placed in the suitcase with the gun. He goes out the door, closing it behind him. The only sound left in the room is the television talking to itself.

"Say goodnight Gracie."

"Goodnight Gracie."

'Canned Laughter'