"The Middle-Management God"

By

K.M. Yoss

 

     Regular treatments ran afoul, often enough.  But this one irked him.

Reviewing the report again, his breath shortened.  He believed his
left arm numbing. 

But he knew his duty.

Thick cords weighted his palms.  Sweat beneath his deconstruction suit displeased him as he scorned his anger across the citiesí occupants.  He referred to them as landscape. 

The landscape congealed into a pool filling drained seas, but he continued.  He continued with the atmosphere, pulled blighted crust against his shielding into sparkling motes. Rage ran afoul often enough, so he cooled his jets and considered the possibility of new treatments.  Biting self-resentment for all the extra work clumped in his throat, but he swallowed and set about repair.

 

     Negligence ran through the moments.  Receiving utilities twitched in consideration, briefly.  Overrides allowed flaw as potential virtue mutation, but the air eeked of too much.  Whispers of corpulence along corridors better left thick with dust stirred the nostrils of those better left unstirred.  They too had been irked, but even pseudo-elected appointees needed to maintain the best reflections, so public censure followed private pats on the back and big cigars, when no one else was looking.  They understood through nostalgia.

     Sapling augmentation and implantation occupied much of the first days after the closed-door celebrations.  His head swelled, but his dance card remained empty.  He didnít notice, at first.  Observation mutable particles filled his life, morning to night.  But line of sight calculations--direct versus indirect, shielded or not--required little attention after seeding.

Light reflection between thin programmed rain slickened fancy taking hold.  Quick two-step, rock-back, treated the night as fair.  She lingered there as well, watching him, anticipating his attention, laughing at his delight.  Sweeping her lightly into his gravity, he circled her through an underarm turn, bringing the knife quick, loosing her entrails toward the storm drain.  Backslash caught a scream in her throat producing a dull exhalation of pattern relieved.  The end was signaled by a twist and lunge, then he across the street in an unquickened two-step to the needle runs.

 

     Feeling fled enhanced lifetimes tripping beneath his grasp.  Fire begetting cold swept across the landscape.  Valleys flattened, pulling anew into thighs of potential flight along lines desiring more thrust.  Tools leapt from carcasses piling with the ages.  Blunt traumas hued early strata before giving way to more complex puncture wounds severing limb and trunk, trunk and head.  Fire glazed fragmenting hearts led the belief all experience more than fleeting, mutable observation.  Continuance flourishing parted his lips, persuaded advanced treatments.  Archaic techniques humored him; cell research belied results worthy time consumption.  But he persevered.

     Many of the pseudo-elected roused themselves individually long enough to observe.  His simple methods engaged their sensibilities unlike any past-time since they themselves had occupied his current position.  This hands on approach to treatment made their palms itch for the thick cords, but landscape management being so beneath them, all they could offer was advice beginning, "In my day," or "You might want to try," or "They really havenít perfected, but..."

     And fleeting, mutable observation fell upon the landscape listening closely to murmurs flitting across their lobes.  Senses twitched between agonies of discontent and agonies of the body yearning for clarity.  But fleeting, mutable observation being so fleeting and so mutable disallowed a momentís notice longer.

 

     Beneath the landscapeís touches grew the expansion of space between molecules, or contraction of space between molecules, or every particle aligning, or respecting each other, or all of this, or part of this.  None really understood the process of mutable movement, but they drove ahead, with whatever form, because alternatives slipped from their minds, torn free again and again.  And while long muscle atrophy dissuaded life under gravimetrical conditions, little of life demanded more than remote viewing of the blue-skied worlds about the pathway of their orbit through control winking beneath eyes wired for broadcast.  Deployed short term, ballachutes adrift along lines of breath carried recognizable bodies projected against fine bodies slipped over their false image torn free again and again in protest of their complexes.

     In protest of their complexes, a pantheon sprang from their couplings.  Perceived atrocity always sounded better from on high.  Dangled from long fingers, monuments to the particles of mutable perception dictated policy.  Sheer size and durability slipped alternatives from their minds.  He understood through nostalgia.

 

     Attempting to catch a moment to deliver goods yet undeliverable, atmosphere swept him along lines of breath beneath a ballachute.  Arcane communications relying on vibration tickled his fancy, returning him along discrepancies of virtue mutation.  In minds beside or below or around mutable perception, hard and fast limited.  Lines truly slow and soft bent, curving vision along eyelid twitch warning of imminent crust.

Cities barely reminiscent of his scorn, tricks of light veined perception.  Frictionless machinery and auditory susurrus.  Seen as a certain angel in a certain light, strong noses eeked corpulence along corridors of parasite designed complexes without consideration of landscape.  Out buildings belittled aesthetic distance, allowing glimpses of nothing of the whole.  Corners, once captured, only judged independently of their walls.  Roof lines contra-indicated functional interiors.  Large shafts cut through allowing courtyards and waterfalls of sun on those cloudless days fewer and farther between.  Glimmers piggy-backed dust.  Little more rode in on shoulders.

     Triple step verging on crowded intersections benign when taken with a long grain of salt.  Dissent played no role because seepage relieved roles long ago.  Dull imitating flesh scraping by on too too little wheeled him along idiosyncrasies.  Pretensive neo-nature palimsested the civilian outskirts with projections in which his mutable perspective caught only his treatments in the back of his throat as a giggle.  A lone entity rising above, beginning in a cultural destruction surely distortion dreamt as long long nights passed before sound offenses.  A lone entity rising above, hurling down the stars like spears.  Tucked beneath shivering amulets, naked aggression defeated puncture wounds and blunt trauma, reversed cellular degradation to suit those adventurers against the elements.  Bridling past his glory, his visage stood out along the faceless coerced into atrophy as he neared the itch of his latest treatment.

     Convulsive forces stabilized his perception of borrowed flesh into one lingering knee before another.  Crust ached for his blood to be washed clean, forgetting the molecular structure of water.  Fossilized perception surfacing as raw meat tempted casual biting insects.  Atmosphere thinly veiled leapt with forget quivering a rare divulging of unmet needs to swipe proboscis skinning molecular destitution.  His tongue ached to form eradicated commonalities on lips pursuing imminent forethought.

     Quick wings circled landscape razed beneath reintegration of mineral drawn through fired manipulation.  Architecture swept beneath provocation warming temperatures bestowed mutable element stinking of virtue mutation.  Technical details ranging along spectrums hardly understandable shifted tensions.  Flesh bestowed upon flesh gouged wounds the length of hands along sides barely containing rib material.  Lungs expanded along breath lines uncontained.  Fire glazed fragmented hearts understood all experience more than fleeting, mutable perception and leapt to curve vision along the slow and soft.

Treatments ran afoul, often enough.  But this one irked him.

His breath shortened; his left arm numbed.  He fell beneath his duty.

The landscape aroused as pantheon.

Rage ran afoul, often enough, so the pantheon cooled their jets and considered the whispers along corridors thick with dust where, irked, the pseudo-elected reached to make landscape management techniques their own once more.  Thick cords weighted their palms.  But negligence ran through their movements.  A scream caught in their throats producing a dull exhalation of pattern begun.  Senses twitched between agonies yearning for understanding, but fleeting, mutable observation being so disallowed a momentís notice any longer.

a long moment ago dismissed prose