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Static
Baka Anime :: Art :: Fan Fic
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Static
There are three apartment buildings side-by-side , tall-squat-tall , the short one dwarfed by windowless brick facades on either side . The back of the middle building opens out onto nothingness with not even a parapet blocking a potential fall ; a marble set down at the front of the roof would slowly start rolling , picking up speed as it bounced and flew , until it plummeted the four stories to the ground before shattering on the superintendent's unkempt patio .
Sprouting from the tar , painted silver to reflect sunlight in a time before the building lived in the perpetual shadow of its neighbours , is a forest of television antennas , one twisted and crooked tower per apartment . Most of them were relics of a time when broadcast had a literal meaning , when every home in New York City was connected to the Empire State Building by invisible filaments of entertainment .
The hatch to the roof is propped open with a brick . The sun is up but just barely and the aluminium forest is glowing and looks warm to the touch . They dissect the sky into discrete geometries that render it almost close enough to touch .
She is standing on the roof with an old and dirty bath towel over her shoulder , orienting herself . Some of the aerials , she knew , were still in use , but it always took her a minute to figure out which . Picking one she thought she recognized by the almost jaunty angle it was resting at , she held out her hand , running it up and down its length and out to the ends of its branches , not touching it , trying to sense a low-level electric hum gathering around it and feeding the television below like an IV drip . Not finding what she was looking for she tries another , and another , winding her way lazily around the roof like a window-shopper .
She finds one , small and off to the side , surrounded by what feels like strands of electrons and ozone an inch under her palms . Sitting cross-legged at its base , on her towel , she lifts her shirt over her head , leaning back just enough so that her spine runs the length of the bare metal . She can feel , somewhere on the periphery of the energy field that her brain is mistakenly telling her its coming from her fingertips , the background radiation of the creation of the universe . She concentrates , mentally adjusts the reception to surround the static , isolates it at a distance , and slowly tunes it out ...
She smiles , carefully cracks open a beer and closes her eyes . The Mets are winning !
-------------
P.S. : just a normal day for a static-scavenger in the dystopian future ...
Sprouting from the tar , painted silver to reflect sunlight in a time before the building lived in the perpetual shadow of its neighbours , is a forest of television antennas , one twisted and crooked tower per apartment . Most of them were relics of a time when broadcast had a literal meaning , when every home in New York City was connected to the Empire State Building by invisible filaments of entertainment .
The hatch to the roof is propped open with a brick . The sun is up but just barely and the aluminium forest is glowing and looks warm to the touch . They dissect the sky into discrete geometries that render it almost close enough to touch .
She is standing on the roof with an old and dirty bath towel over her shoulder , orienting herself . Some of the aerials , she knew , were still in use , but it always took her a minute to figure out which . Picking one she thought she recognized by the almost jaunty angle it was resting at , she held out her hand , running it up and down its length and out to the ends of its branches , not touching it , trying to sense a low-level electric hum gathering around it and feeding the television below like an IV drip . Not finding what she was looking for she tries another , and another , winding her way lazily around the roof like a window-shopper .
She finds one , small and off to the side , surrounded by what feels like strands of electrons and ozone an inch under her palms . Sitting cross-legged at its base , on her towel , she lifts her shirt over her head , leaning back just enough so that her spine runs the length of the bare metal . She can feel , somewhere on the periphery of the energy field that her brain is mistakenly telling her its coming from her fingertips , the background radiation of the creation of the universe . She concentrates , mentally adjusts the reception to surround the static , isolates it at a distance , and slowly tunes it out ...
She smiles , carefully cracks open a beer and closes her eyes . The Mets are winning !
-------------
P.S. : just a normal day for a static-scavenger in the dystopian future ...
DarK- Reichsführer-SS
- Mesaje : 125
Data de inscriere : 02/02/2010
Varsta : 34
Localizare : The Wastelands
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