06 August 2008

RFID&T Part 1

Story time again, folks. This is the opening of a short story I'm working on. I wrote one a lot like this a few years back, but wasn't satisfied with the result. Since that ext was lost I started over again. This is a draft of the opening scene:

He snored. Bathed in the cold light of his television, he snored.

The television sang its lullaby of confidence and persuasion to him in thirty second spots:

"Tired of dragging around a wallet full of IDs and credit cards? Looking for real freedom?
"Then make an appointment with your doctor today to get the new Info-TAG implant! The new Info-TAG implant interfaces with receivers conveniently installed nation-wide! Pay for your purchases simply by walking out the door! Pay at the pump for charging up your car's batteries simply by being there. No more lines, no more worrying about losing your wallet!
A montage of people walked through various retail store doors with armloads of purchases. The were all smiling and care free, and conspicuously not standing in lines, or even in proximity to anyone else.
"Let your doctor know if you are allergic to silicon, cat dander, pollen, alcohol (ethyl or methyl), paraffin, asbestos, or fiberglass before receiving your Info-TAG.
"Info-TAG: your pass to true freedom!"

To a casual observer it was a peaceful sleep, but to a more observant person it was the sort of sleep that left you more tired than when you'd closed your eyes. Eyes. His own eyes moved side to side under closed lids, and in his mind's eye eyes, yellow eyes, peered at him from the undergrowth.
He was in a tree, something deep down had told him that a tree was the best place to be, because wolves didn't climb trees. Wolves? He dreamed to himself, where did they come from? Lupine shapes coalesced from the darkness swirling around the rough gray trunk of his safety, fading back into blackness, making growling noises that sounded like speech until he tried to listen to the words. Occasionally at the edge of the dream something - someone? - howled.
He rolled on his couch, arms flailing as if climbing.
He reached for higher branches. None of them had tried to jump for him yet, but he knew the higher he was the safer he'd be.
Arms flailed, legs pumped. He fell to the floor, and the dream was gone.
Reflexively he scratched around the injection site. The nurse had said his neck would itch for a few days, but she hadn't mentioned just how much it would itch. He'd used an entire tube of cortisone before falling asleep on the couch. What had that dream been all about? He thought he remembered dogs or foxes, or was he listening to someone's conversation? No matter, it was already gone.
He yawned and stretched, reaching for his remote to shut off the television. The program that had been on faded out and was replaced by smiling people. The announcer began his pitch:

"Tired of dragging around a wall-"

The room went dark. He yawned again, and scratching at his neck he stumbled from the room, aiming for the general direction of his bed.
The wolves returned while he slept, only now he could see their faces; their almost human faces. Growls and whines and howls sounded more like words, words he swore he could understand if only he could pay attention long enough, but new wolves were appearing and disappearing, distracting him.

He woke up exhausted, bathed and sweat, and wondering what he was going to do about his third cat, Mittens, who looked like she was pregnant again.
This bothered him, because he didn't own any cats.

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