Sunday, November 28, 2010

Misconceptions Part 6

Wiping his face to free himself of the sweet crimson sauce dripping from his chin, Maurice looked at the aorta and could not force himself even if he had to. The day grew in to an old man’s whisper and Maurice wasn’t about to hear its final words before the birth of new born day.

He flicked off the lights…

Saturday… all is well, but Maurice couldn’t be asked to work. He’s couldn’t concentrate. He needed to be on top of all the news. So he read, and read, but only a half story here, a lead there, a stock market graph –

“A stock market graph?” he wondered, flipping the pages of the business section. There were rumours in the Times that the derivatives markets were about to hit a wall and that Sunday night would bring many to the brink of madness. Men would be lost to it all, families destroyed by what bankers were doing. A new term entered Maurice’s lexicon: Credit Default Swap. It was a horrifyingly boring name.

The phone rang for hours. But Maurice would not respond. The collectors would get theirs when he got his. He kept licking his fingers and turning each page as if they had honey and sugar at each corner of the page…

Sunday… Mauice did not sleep a wink. He went back to the fridge and finished the aorta. He had heard of the powerful experience of eating a man’s heart. And he couldn’t argue as he was feeling pretty authoritative on the subject of strength. Maurice had always been very good on this undertaking. But this was different. He was no longer looking to pick up humans in his cab for delivery to slave masters. He couldn’t think of taking someone’s organs at this juncture. No. He heard a different opportunity sing from his heart and bellow out a fine tune.

The phone rang once more…

Monday… the phone continued to ring, but Maurice was too busy getting ready. He wrapped his tie around his neck and threaded a neat Windsor knot. He pulled on his warm ironed pants and shirt and could feel the cool October breeze bounce from the cotton.

He made a coffee. Poured some sugar. Stirred and flipped through the paper once more. Then he admitted, quite proudly, that he was more than prepared.

He took the bus to Wall St. and smiled as he was thinking about all the great things they would say when he told them how he was a real killer on the markets. He would take each of their organs and allow the crimson to bleed all over lower Manhattan.

He couldn’t wait to see their faces as he repeated the horror of East Harlem.

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