Jeremy – a repost, for i believe that it has aged with time. pc
by seajay1221
Posted to Stories on 2004-03-24 02:59:00
The morning bell sounded. As if on cue, Jeremy Cloumbs opened his eyes, tentatively at first, and looked up at the sky. Jeremy first found this odd for he was used to his room having a roof over it, and as raindrops began piercing down from the heavens Jeremy realized that the lack of roof was due to the fact that he was not lying in his room. One could see quite plainly that Jeremy had gone through quite an ordeal. His clothes were tattered, his feet were bare and encrusted with mud, and his right ear was swollen up to twice the usual size. Frustruated that he would be delayed to his examination, Jeremy rose up quite quickly. But to his dismay, his legs lacked the strength to hold him and Jeremy fell backwards with a crash. Jeremy looked about a bit before whilst regaining his strength, not trying too desperately to get a handle on the current situation. There must certainly be a reasonable explanation for the lack of architecture (save a small church in the distance), the flaming crates that dotted the landscape like snow in all directions save a line directly to Jeremy’s left, and the hovering ovals darting about the sky. Jeremy would soon consult whomever was in charge, demand a refund if one was in order, and explain to his lateness to his instructor.
Finally Jeremy rose, slowly this time, and started off in the direction with the least crates. Upon closer inspection the crates revealed themselves to be gas-powered lamps of some sort. Jeremy walked along this path for what seemed to be hours. His legs were getting very tired, and his ear had begun ringing in his head while bleeding profusely. “If it weren’t for this blasted ear”, Jeremy thought “I would be able to think clearly and get on with my walk.” Approaching one of the crates, Jeremy punched through its glass casing and used the head to sterilize a sharp piece of the glass. Biting on his sleeve Jeremy quite slowly, centimeter by centimeter, sliced his ear off. At first the pain seemed unbearable, and he almost in the madness of pain decided that he should not be cutting off his ear, but he persisted and soon came to realize the beauty of this task. Jeremy began to hear the most wonderful sounds emerging directly to his right. And as if by magic, the further he cut the more he was able to manipulate these sounds. They came in all pitches, tones, and lengths, and created a sort of demented orchestra that Jeremy alone could follow. His cutting glass worked away with the steadiness of a conductor’s baton, and the results were just as desired. But he could not stay listening to the music for too long, as Jeremy had an exam to take, and he soon put the glass down, taking time to wrap his head with the sleeve of his shirt, and traveled on his way. The music followed him, but was not nearly as loud. Besides, Jeremy had too many figures to calculate and facts to fill his mind with to pay full attention to the orchestra.
As he neared a train-hut, Jeremy began to jog, his breath whistling louder with every increasing burst of speed. Some great Thing was hunting him through the woods, he knew, but the train-hut would represent the safety of civilization that prevents old-world beasts from harming him.
The hut-master was a cruel man who beat his wife, and was feared by all of the local boys who tried to hop free train rides after Paul was shot in the leg for “trespassing where he ain’t be belonging” and not a person who knew the hut-master could discern from whence came his ardent passion for collecting the tickets of passengers. As the hut-master sat, keeping the train delayed for another few minutes so that he might be able collect an extra ticket or two, he looked up and out the window to see Jeremy sprinting like mad down the hills, whistling an incromphensible cacaphony, and holding his bleeding ear-spot with both hands.
As Jeremy entered the train hut he was still sprinting, and on his path out the back porch to the waiting train he wondered at why a man he had just passed was pouring gasoline on his legs. But Jeremy pushed all thoughts out of his mind as he boarded the train. There on the train was a fat woman shooshing a wide-eyed child, an old huddled up homeless man in the corner discussing with whoever would listen the beauties of the illustrious “now”, and a voyager. There was so much mystery on the train that the old man stood up, shouted “GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!!! THIS IS WHAT I’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT!”, and collapsed to the floor weeping uncontrollably. Jeremy slept.
A bird flying over the plains was distracted by a steaming snake whooshing far below in the grass. As it swooped down, the bird upon closer inspection spotted a rival male challenging him. To make sure, our bird performed all of his challenging flight patterns flawlessly, and simultaneously his challenger issued his. The bird then readied itself, thought of the lady birds he would be impressing, and streaked into Jeremy’s window. Jeremy woke at the sharp sound and was startled by the bloodstained window, but was too courteous to point this fact out to his train-mates. As the train pulled into its last stop, Jeremy readied himself near the door, and walked out onto the platform. A balloon-seller was taunting children. There was a group of youths watching a peer vomit over the rail. A black rabbit darted into the brush. Jeremy smiled as the enemy missiles came roaring into the town, exploding and raining destruction. Soldiers in dark-blue uniforms began storming the city. The people, they panicked. So upset were they all, and so intent were the soldiers, and so mindless the missiles, that nobody witnessed Jeremy as he sat, drew figures in the sand, and waded along the ocean-shore. The battle was in the distance now, but this was of no importance to Jeremy. Jeremy was free.
A bullet caught Jeremy in the middle of his back. He gazed a bit, lightly touching his wound without turning around. Another bullet took off his left arm. Jeremy realized with conviction that the soldiers must be using high-powered shotguns. He began to whistle his freakish tune as all other sounds, and soon his sight, began to diminish. Only the musicality of his right ear could bring him any conviction. As he fell to his knees and spazmatically flopped around in a most unsightly fashion, he tried to remember just what time his exam would be starting. He would need a pass.