A Second Excerpt From Ne'er Do Well

Chapter 2

        

T

he sun broke through the window, bringing a golden yellow gleam to the entirety of the small room. In this particular room were countless shelves and racks filled with various knick-knacks and trinkets. Many of them appeared to have been placed on the shelves for purely arbitrary reasons. The bed was simple and had no sheets, blankets, or pillows, and was the common type of bed found in Ne’er Do Well. I bring us to our character: Steve. He was sleeping; probably having dreams of the magical variety.

He was enjoying one of those very other-worldly dreams when a loud noise filled the room, causing Steve to fly into convulsion-like movements. We could have then assumed that Steve wasn’t very fond of noise, conscious or unconscious.

He made his way to the door with a complete lack of concern for the fact that he had nearly flown off of his bed. That, in itself, could have been enough to anger any normal man. That is the odd thing; Steve was emotionless, or perhaps, only appeared to be that way. Upon opening the door, Steve noticed a man in an unfashionable grey hat complimented by unnaturally short shorts walking away from the door. Mailman. Steve did have one emotion that always seemed to find its way to the surface: Humor.
“Love the get-up Geoffrey! It reminds me of last night’s episode of ‘The Wilderness Uncovered’!” Steve was laughing at the terribly overused joke that he made use of every morning
“Oh great. I thought I would be able to avoid you for once this month. BOY was I terribly mistaken.”

It was strict law in Ne’er Do Well to knock on doors (Loudly) before leaving mail. Apparently, it was quite ‘normal’ for everyone in the neighborhood to check the mail at the same time. It did not matter if they were awake or not, they had to check the mail at 6:50 A.M. Steve had made the best of the situation, as always, by refusing to get angry and by lightening the weather with the usual wise crack.

Next, Steve flipped through the various letters in the pile. The stack was so huge that it had to be held together by a tie. In fact, everyone got this much mail every day. Most of it was junk mail anyways. Why? Well, my friend, it turns out that the headmaster decided it would be a grand idea to ban all sign posts, newspaper ads, and anything else that threatened normality. The only option left for businesses was mail advertisements. Because of this, they were forced to suffer this agonizing event Every. Single. Day.

Steve flipped through the stack until he found the only piece of mail valuable to him at all: a letter! An actual letter! It was the first one all week and was vividly colorful. When Steve ran inside excitedly to open his letter that absolutely no one in all of Ne’er Do Well could have had, he discovered what it truly was: This month’s bills. Steve put the letter down and allowed his face to rise to its usual position. It was, at first glance, an expressionless look, but I’m sure we all knew this dreadful feeling; heated anger driven to the edge of cool indifference.

The next moment Steve was looking through his closet, which was full of every color in the rainbow. Steve didn’t do what everyone else in the town did in the morning. Instead, he picked out his own attire with which to start his day. He chose them entirely based on spontaneity, intuition, and individuality (All very seldom used in town). The rules for clothing were placed above every closet in the city; wear the color that matches your mood and feelings as follows: Blue for sad, green for jealous, red for angry etc, etc. The colors were about as varied as the selection of house roofs in Ne’er Do Well: that is, less than 10. He merely glanced in their direction and walked away.

Steve grabbed his book, now dry, and rushed out the door in his blue dress shirt, brown pants, black shoes, and red jacket. He was dressed as if he had all the moods of the spectrum spinning around in his heart. He probably did.

He walked to his beautifully customized Mountain Star bike which featured tacky blue spokes and an eye-catching hot pink paint job. It was a truly impressive chick-magnet. When he looked at his ride and bore a slight frown, he must have thought, “Poor thing. Needs another dent, or perhaps another scratch in the paint.”

He hopped on his speedster and took off, full speed, down 5^th street. He was going faster than all the metropolitan cars that seemed to congest at the same time every morning. They were probably all going to the same place as Steve: work. As he buzzed past cars and people alike, Steve arrived at 5^th and Lawrence. He worked here, in the dreaded cubicle office of the New Age Movement. Mr. Smith’s Business Tech. He probably hated the place. In fact, I doubt he even liked the people all that much. He didn’t really like people at all. All they ever did was spout useless nonsense, such as “How’s the weather, John?”and “How was your commute?” after which they would then mutter the dreadful response, “Fine. And yourself?”

Steve opened the front door to the gigantic tower and walked straight in to the air-conditioned, gray tinted office. Steve walked past the receptionist to the elevator, put his keycard in, and made his way to the 27^th floor. It was the only floor he could access, as was typical with keycard-access offices in Ne’er Do Well. All the floors really looked the same, in that they had box shaped structures filled with box-shaped people. He walked to his usual work spot, cubicle #42, and began his work on the computer. His work usually consisted of the dreadfully difficult tasks of computer chess, solitaire, and Tetris. Sometimes, when the boss really wanted him to suffer, he was obliged to play online poker. He really hated that.

Now, you are probably thinking “Isn’t he a slacker?!” Well, yes and no. In this huge corporate company, the people who work are not individual beings, but rather pawns, mere pawns. Just like the ones in chess. No one really cared about the pawns, just the big and beautiful queen, and well, the managers here at Mr. Smith’s didn’t think they would need to check on their pawns in person because EVERYONE did what they should. What would it matter if they checked on wall-specks? Steve knew one thing, though. He knew that a computer device monitored the progress of the workers and reported any sort of slacking to the higher-ups. Steve was a genius. He unplugged it. If he had been a great and wise philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have comprehended that in order to be a ‘genius’ a man would need only two things:  a sense of individualism and a pioneering spirit. And he would have then realized that true geniuses stand up for their ideas and choose their own paths.

And after a long and exhausting day of work, Steve hopped on his bike and decided it was about time he made his way to the library. Did I mention he loved the library? Well he REALLY loved that place… Steve headed down Lawrence until 6^th street and turned until he reached the end. His destination was old town, the area that existed long before the New Age began. Nobody lived in old town anymore, except maybe stray animals and children. Steve had always dreamt of owning a home in old town. The associated fact is as such: Ne’er Do Wellians could not purchase any of the old town buildings or live in the surrounding area; Steve must have really hated that rule.

He placed his bike on the rack and examined his book for imperfections. After he had thoroughly checked his book, he passed through the exact same squeaky doors he walked past the other day. The smell was there again. The smell he loved. It was the beautiful smell of ink that stuck to his body and made it seem as if he was swimming in wet clouds. The lights flickered on and off, creating a spotlight effect when Steve stood in the right spot. It always made him feel like a superstar, even if only for a second.

 He walked up to the desk and noticed something quite odd. She wasn’t there. He looked over the books and still, no one in sight. Then, he began tapping his finger as if he was hitting a ringing bell, like the sort found in businesses. Maybe there WAS one underneath the numerous books littered across the desk. Still waiting, he began to whistle a tune; it went as such: Too-Tweet Tweet Tweet. Steve was fond of bird calls.
“Don’t tell me you’re making noises in the library again. I heard your giggling last time. You sounded like a little girl reading a picture book. Don’t let me catch you doing it again.”
“Surely you are kidding, dearest. How’s it been? Any new visitors?”
“You ask that much too often. You know the answer, Steve.”
Steve smiled. Probably because that was the first time she had addressed him by name.
“You know… They say love is the finest of all the fruits in life. Perhaps you would care to join me in a meal featuring one of the most delectable treats on the planet?”
“Needs more work. I’m not impressed in the least.”
“Hmm… I put a lot of work into that one, too.”
“I doubt it. You took it from ‘Love, Life, Happiness’.”
“Hmm… How did you know that?”

“You checked it out three days ago.”
He opened his eyes, noticeably astounded, and returned to the subject at hand
“I will be returning this.”
She took the book and placed it in a cart that was presently occupied. She most surely knew that it wasn’t going to be placed anywhere anyway. The fact that she even stamped books was questionable.
“I shall be off, my dearest.”
No response.

He made his way to the usual shelf and decided to pick out a new read: ‘The Secret Pathway to Corporate Leadership’. When he held out the book, he seemed surprised by the title. These types of books were very rare and were most likely published some 80 years ago. It was surprising to see that the headmaster had not disposed of this auspicious find. The cover was faded green and the title was in golden writing. The binding was falling apart and some of the pages had already fluttered down to the floor.

Steve closed the book and walked back to the counter. She was still there, playing with her favorite toy. One would sometimes wonder why she even worked there.
“Why do you sit around when there are so many books to read?” He already knew the answer.
“I would prefer to avoid prison.” She answered harshly.
“Mhhm…” He responded as he walked out of the library.

Steve grabbed his bicycle and noticed a man walking toward him in a black trench coat. It was snowing again. As the man approached, Steve started estimating, guessing possible escape routes.
Too late.
“Hello, Steve. Care to chat?”