Pollution

Michael never felt freer than when the oval sun dipped below the cold earth. Sprinkling the sky with an ombre of oranges and pinks, to settle in an ink-black with white freckles. Faint warm glows growing from simple homes melted into the sky like blended watercolours.

Michael breathed deeply into the new air, the static and wild air. His feet grounded like roots into the earth and the wild air swirled into his lungs. His eyes remained delicately closed, on the brink of opening; just barely closed.

A butterfly kiss of closure.

Michael found joy and contempt in opening his eyes to the pitch black and watch it morph into dark colours as his eyes adjusted. He felt in those moments of morphing from blind to nocturnal that he became a part of the night.

There was no joy here.

The butterfly opened and on this foggy night, Michael was surrounded by the sea fog of his hometown, tainted with the staining blood of light.

It was like orange glasses had been placed upon Michael's head while he swayed in the night.

It was suffocating.

Michael could feel the pollution enter his lungs with every breath. It was anxious, quick, and hot the breath coming out of him.

Adding to the fog that swirled around him.

Michael felt invisible arms wrap around him, smothering his body and pulling him into this polluted fog.

Sick of the sick, Michael, wrenching his arms from the invisible force, sprung to his car.

The door slamming shut behind his entering form, the keys clinking against each other as they were being thrust into the ignition to only miss and slam into the wheel. Michael's hands were shaky, trembling in soul-crushing fear of the sickness outside. Again the keys slammed, Michael breathing in a bubbling breath, a deep bubbly breath; slowly with shaking hands slid the key with precision into the ignition and twisted.

The car bleeding into life and Michael sucking in gurgling breaths with relief. Hands clutched in a death grip the steering wheel, it looked as though bones were a second away from protruding through the pale skin. But the movements were so fast, from a death grip and a shaky breath, one hand jittered out to change the gears while the other indicated to enter the road and no sooner than when the steering wheel was grasped Michael was on the road.

It was hard for Michael to focus through the orange pollution, he felt sick at moving through the nauseating gas.

His arms stretched out uncomfortably straight, his back glued to the seat, erected, as his eyes bulged from his head. Michael tried not to breathe out of fear the pollution would be seeping through the air filters.

The car was chugging and winding up the steep hill presented to Michael and he broke his fear of pollution for fear of his tiny shitty car for a second. But then his small car broke through that barrier, the barrier where the polluted sea fog could not go through. Through a gasping fish breath, Michael saw the tall shadowing trees, the inky black sky sprinkled with white freckles, the gasps between tree trunks changing colours depending on the growing foliage.

And best of all.                                                                                                                                 

No pollution on the roadside.

Michaels now relaxed right limp arm slumped down to the headlights and turned them off, plunging him to even more darkness.

Michael knew the way. He didn’t need that pollution to now the way he thought.

It wasn’t as good as been outside amongst the inkiness of the night-time world. He couldn’t cement his feet to the ground and grow the roots he wanted to, but it was better than the orange pollution. So, Michael hummed pleasantly to the night, and winding down his window he breathed in the musky forest air.

It was peaceful until Michael heard the artificial hum of the monster he was about to face. It sounded like death and chaos and soon the car spluttered over a small hill and there between the trees to the left the power building the monster sat with faint cat-like glows and an evil smile to its aura.

The place where Michael worked.

Michael thought about how painfully long it had taken him to get the graveyard shift at the powerplant. He thought about the itchy uniform he constantly had to wear and how he felt like he lived in a straight jacket constantly.

So soon soon soon.

Whispered in his head and for the first time his smile cracked in a shier grin, but he pushed it back into his mind because the security booth was next to him now.

It was a simple nod, a junky metal arm raised, and Michael’s car pulled forward into its spot behind the plant. He had done these thousands of times, but only tonight did it feel static, exciting. The beep of his car locking sending an erotic thrill down his spine and a spring in his step.

Soon, soon, soon.

It was all robotic the next movements of his. Signing in, walking to his station, glancing the security camera screens, and sliding into his old, probably will break if he was any heavier, chair.

There he waited.

Flick.

The chairs next to him scratched as the premonition smell of cigarettes filled Michael's nostrils long before the murky remnants clinging to his co-worker’s clothes returned from their hourly break. The door slammed shut and Michael's tongue swelled with excited saliva, like Tantalus, he was so close yet so far from what he craved. Quickly sticking out his tongue to release the pressure he clicked it back in as he sprung from his seat.

The view on the security cameras showing all fellow workings slowly peeling away to the designated smoking area, well away from any flammable objects that were stationed inside the building.

Rubbing his tongue on the roof of his mouth in a slick thinking motion Michael thought of how lucky he was no one knew he smoked. For if they did then he wouldn’t have been left alone to watch over the whole power plant for 10 minutes.

10 sweet minutes.

It had all been planned. The second the last person walked across the fuzzy security screen leading outside and the door softly closed behind the form, Michael hit the silent lock button. A stupid button, only in emergencies would the whole building need to lock down but here they were with a silent one. It was like a silent siren calling to Michael every night because for months he could have done this, but only until he was alone and knew the combination of keys could he answer the silent call.

So he did.

The silent alarm locked all the doors and the unaware co-workers puffed like trains.

Michael licked his lips to have a break from his excited and swelling tongue. Striding out of the room Michael made the quick and fluid steps, repeated millions of times before this night, to the control room.

Soon, soon, soon.

Soon the control room door will hush open with a metallic click, soon the smell of late-night dinners will fill Michael's nose, and soon the clicking and squeaking of rubber boots will fill the silence but humming room.

And soon became now and now there Michael stood before the brilliant red cut off button.

The suffocating will end soon he thought but before he thought of his plan. His hand will graze the silky red handle graced with vibrant.

Emergency cut off!

Oh, its never been more tempting. Michael sucked in the stuffy control room air and flopped his head backward where the top of his spine would send that stinging feeling down his body. Where sucking in a thick breath could be felt filling his small throat, expanding and splitting the seams of flesh.

Exhaling out emptied his stomach and rounded his spine like a cat. And looking away, as his shoulder blades pressed up towards the ceiling, his right uplifted and gripping the red rubber he pulled the lever.

The room erupted in the Emergency red and Michael lightly swiveled like a dancer on ice, starring blankly, he breathed in and thundered towards the door.

With unpredictable excitement Michael whipped open the emergency door, banging the fire emergency memorabilia on the other side. His boots hit the concrete slapping like skin and Michael ran screaming towards the smokers saying that,

“some psycho entered the building!”

And immediately the smokers ran inside the building following protocol. While in the rush Michael ran past the hole in the chainmail fence.

Michael kept running.

Running.

Now, now, now.

His feet pounding on the earth in the same rhythmic beat of his heart. His breathing came out visible due to the change of temperature and it came out swift and fast.

The further he got, the deeper into the forest he found himself, and soon he skidded to a stop on top of the tallest hill he could run-up.

Before him, the forest clearing broke away to a view of the now sea fog clear town. At least that what he would have seen if he had not plunged them into darkness.

The sky in that short time from when leather red had fallen, exploded into a sea of white swimming fish.

Blues and purples melted like paints amongst the inky black. Bubbling and falling in the rhythm of the universe.

So there Michael exhaled the polluted breath he had been holding, falling forward, collapsing to the dewy ground.

Rolling like a dog and spreading his arms wide like a bird he looked upon the melting sky and felt himself too melt into the inky abyss.

It felt like breathing for the first time.

Now, now, now.

An orgasmic experience.

Projecting his torso upward into a seated position Michael looked back towards the power plant.

How sweet it will be.

Would it.

Michael concluded that yes it would be sweet.

So, he smoothly leaped onto one foot and streamed through the dry earthy leaves. The fresh smell of excitement smelled of fallen leaves and dewy grass; and it streamed straight through Michaels flares nostrils.

Just don’t let them turn it back on, it's so simple, it's so sweeeet.

Oh, it is so sweet.

Michael moved like returning sea fog to the power plant where the smokers ran around in secret looking for the crazy man.

Just what you need.

Sure is.

Because as Michael remembered, behind the door, the emergency door. There laid the fire ax perfectly handing parallel to the emergency button. The fire emergency memorabilia. The memorabilia that rolled into Michael's hands like an engulfing fog.

And it swung easily between his hands and there was the invisible smell of fire, ash, and burnt skin.

Smoke rolled into the building like a thin layer of sea fog, just the start of the thick pea soup.

As the ax sang with a metal buzz.

I don’t think pollution will stay this season.

No Michael supposed, he guesses it won’t.

The first of many rounded the corner before him, and the smoker spluttered polluted words, but the ax was already making him choke. It had swung high to the right and falling to the smokers' throat it sliced the meat as easily as a paper cut. The blood collected and bubbled through the smoker’s lungs to soon spurt out in a water gun stream once the ax was jostled out of the slick flesh.

The heavy body of the smoker collapsed to the ground, wide eyes starring up to a once close co-worker.

Michael lifted his hand and grabbed the vibrant red neck he had created. Pushing down until the body fell in a contorting position backward.

There Michael starred deep into the polluted eyes, the orange eyes, the smoker’s eyes. Soon the light, that pollution left the smoker's eyes and Michael took that sweet shaky breath of fresh air in.

Michael collapsed his head into the crook of the smoker's bloodied neck and sucking in the sweet air, felt again the orgasmic bliss of melting into the world.