Sleeping Chaos

By D. Erick Bryan

The town of Circumstance considers their homeless population to be a nuisance. Creating the solution will take its toll, and make an unwitting sponsor its next victim. While in an indefinite sleep Al will have the chance to decide if he will live the rest of his life in a dream. Novella, approx. 40,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257960552

Book preview

Sleeping Chaos

Sleeping Chaos

by D. Erick Bryan

Copyright © 2011

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-257-96055-2

**1**

There is an epidemic infecting our great city, the man read from the teleprompter in front of a town hall meeting. Dull gray folding chairs were spread in rows and filled with normal, everyday looking people in golf shirts, pleated slacks, and other varied business-casual attire. He held both sides of the stately black podium he stood behind. His suit glistened with the sheen of a fresh pressing. The golden cuff links on his sleeves reflected the stock camera lighting in spiked rays. He gestured to the crowd with an open hand in a chopping motion. And it’s time to cure this disease.

He continued his speech, all the while flailing his arms and hands in motions of appeal and firm absolute. "The issue we are facing is not a moral issue; the issue is one of social stability. It’s about being courteous and mindful of the rights of the fellow man. Without this stability, without just and decent followers of the law, there is decay, there is seeping chaos.

Every day we are burdened with the uncomfortable presence of the visual blight in our once great city in the form of transient human beings, of beggars who persistently solicit the change from our pockets. He leaned up onto one hand and looked down his nose to the gathered crowd.

His eyebrows rose. "The time has come for this way of thinking to be squashed. We should not be bothered with the unpleasant stench of their misfortune, when it appears that the misfortune is not misfortune at all, but a simple fixed desire to remain below the radar of our regulated and fine tuned societal machine.

"Homelessness in itself is not the issue. I understand chance and consequence. I know fate can deal unwelcome cards. But in times of our greatest challenges we must persevere and regain the ground we may have lost. Sometimes help is required. If a member of my family, of my town, were to find themselves forlorn or abandoned, I would bring down my warm blanket of security and wrap them in it. I would help them stand and I would see to it they regain their balance. I would provide the crutch needed to help them get back into the world. But a crutch is meant to be temporary. A healing must occur for the crutch to have fulfilled its purpose.

"What we have today is a nuisance. I’m speaking of the defiant and maladjusted rebels. It is their lack of resolution to achieve a new home once they find themselves without. It’s not that these lost souls can’t re-assimilate themselves into our society; it’s simply that they don’t care enough to do so, or don’t feel that they should have to.

"Is it not a fact that each and every one of us in this glorious city, which works for their living, gives large portions of their income for maintenance of the roads, the schools, the landscaping, the beautiful highways and byways, dog parks and lovely fragrant gardens? Do we not deserve to partake in these environmental wonderments with boisterous and unrestrained, unrefined consumption? In giant heaping gulps and swallows? Aren’t we the ones that toil and sweat and limit ourselves for the greater good? Don’t we sacrifice enough of our lifetime to deserve to enjoy our existence in this fine community? Then why, I ask you, are we suffered with the mere existence of the disgusting and degraded human population whose only purpose is to fester like rotten sores on the harmonious surface of our decent civilization? There is only one direction to follow in this situation. We have been presented with the task of eradicating these vermin and taking back our town. We are left with the responsibility of cleaning up that which belongs to us. We are the shareholders of our beloved city and our stake is being devalued. It is time to purify our lives of the unattractive and unpleasant blemishes on our home. And we must be relentless.

As your governor, I accept this challenge. Things will be set right, I assure you. His stern look scanned the crowd, and with one last sigh, the man let go of the podium and relieved his position at the head of the crowd.

As the governor walked off the stage another man grabbed for the podium and thrust his head in front of the microphone. That concludes the conference, thanks for coming. If you will make your way to the back of the room, Governor Winstill will see you out. The crowd shuffled around, standing, collecting their random things and began moving towards the exits.

Jack Parker rose from his chair and grabbed his coat. He too had grown weary of the various faces he saw on the streets of Circumstance. To him this kind of social abnormality was really more of a burden than a benefit to society.

Human behavior had bewildered him all his life: war, greed, debauchery, suicide, murder. It all seemed like such a futile waste of time. Jack felt there was a simple formula to doing things a normal way. Life didn’t have to be so complex. His was an example of a life well lived. If there was a rule, he followed it. If there was a path, he took it. Life to him wasn’t about doing it well; life was about doing it right. His right was based on learning from the mistakes of past generations. A mistake is only worthwhile if a lesson can be learned from it.

He walked to the exit. Governor Winstill stood at the door like a Reverend letting out Sunday mass. The man shook with his right while patting the shoulders of each exiting attendee with his left.

Hi, Governor, said Jack. The Governor reached for Jack’s hand.

Hello, Dr. Parker. How have you been? Well, I hope.

Just fine, Sir. I’d like to talk with you sometime about what plans you may have in mind.

Of course. Just call Eileen and have her schedule a time. Maybe we can talk over lunch...

Jack locked his grip on the Governor’s hand and looked him in his eyes. I’m interested in hearing just how far you are willing to go. Jack tightened his grip.

The Governor’s eyebrows crinkled but the wince quickly disappeared. The city is my home, Doctor. It’s your home, too. It’s a shame to see it get all cluttered up. He briefly turned his attention away from Jack to nod at an elderly lady filing out of the assembly.

Jack released the handshake. Please call me when you have a moment. I’m certain I can help with the solution. With that Jack departed.

It was a dark September night. He breathed in the warm, thick air. He could hear his footsteps on the sidewalk beneath him. A gentle wind rustled the short pear trees lining the street. Their leaves brushed together and sounded like soft applause. The stars bowed and shone with brilliance across their midnight blue stage. He walked alone with his hands in his pockets and his sport-coat tucked beneath one arm. He turned down clean empty streets in Circumstance lit by yellow halogen. Each streetlight buzzed softly as he passed. Hi Jack, he imagined them whisper.

He walked around the corner to the library. The library had a warm, breathing, living quality to it. Jack thought it was magnificent. Its large exterior glass wall loomed large and long. He could see inside. Books were neatly arranged on numerous shelves, kids sat at a small table among colored carpet and squishy red blue and green vinyl chairs. Other kids lounged on the floor on their stomachs and read while their tiny socked feet crossed and wavered behind them.

A wide spiral staircase led to a second floor filled with aisles of walnut finished bookshelves, and tables and chairs for studying. Adults young and old roamed through the aisles; some sat at the tables lit by green office lamps. Some faces were spectacled and some were not. The building stirred like an ant colony with contented activity.

Hey, mister, was spoken soft behind Jack.

Jack Parker awoke from his gaze into the library. He looked to his right; a narrow stretch of furry green grass in front of the library’s glass wall absorbed the soft light cast from inside. Well laid concrete sidewalk extended into pinpoint perspective down the street. He looked to his left to see the corner which he had just rounded.

Hey, mister, you think you could gihm-me enough money to get som-uhm tuh eat?

Jack turned. A man who looked about fifty years old had emerged from a ten foot high thick of manicured boxwoods; his hair was scraggly like a wet collie’s mane and wrinkles in his face were filled with greasy black grime. Jack stepped square around and pointed both feet toe-forward perpendicular to the man. The streetlights sizzled.

The man looked as if his shoulders were hunched up to his ears and his head leaned to the side. His hand was held forward, palm up. Can ya, fella?

Can I what? asked Jack. He squared his chest to the man and stared directly into the man’s eyes. He saw no decent spark of humanity within, no drive, no ambition. What he did see made him grit his teeth and clench his jaw, no doubt to prevent himself from unleashing a torrent of hot water words that would do nothing but validate that man’s existence. The streetlights popped and crackled.

This man was being a smug and arrogant bastard. A bastard to the city, to society. No home, no place to call his own by purchase. Sure, on the surface he looked sick and dirty; with his hand out and his walk wobbly and weak, but Jack saw through the facade. This man hadn’t even laid out his best material. Obvious to Jack, this man was putting on a show. Was he hungry? Probably. Starving? Couldn’t be. This man stood on two feet, attached to functional legs, and his wrinkles separated fat folds of skin on his face. The actor pretended to be a grateful human that didn’t expect anything from Jack.

Jack was disgusted to the point of intense defensive behavior. Don’t ask me for money, sir. I don’t know you. And I know everyone in this productive town of citizens who are always willing to give everything of themselves, no matter how little there is to spare. I’ll bet if you were one of those people, I would know you.

The man did not lower his hand. He leaned his head forward slightly. His cheeks sunk on his face and pulled the outside corners of his eyes down; his eyebrows pinched together in the center and scooted up his forehead. His feet shuffled like he was going to reach further toward Jack.

The man didn’t make it a centimeter forward, not an inch, when Jack took a hearty step in the man’s direction.

The man rose up instantly and leaned onto his back foot. Whoa, I don’t want any trouble.

Why is it, Jack thought, that familiar phrase always showed up during moments preceding conflict? When actual trouble could possibly be avoided, but never is? The man who has the time to formulate that sentence hasn’t seen trouble...yet.

A rustling behind the man caught Jack’s attention. Right behind the front few branches of the bush wall stood a child, no more than two years old. His chest and legs were bare, and he wore a lopsided disposable diaper that hung loose under his pot belly from the weight of urine.

Is that your baby? asked Jack.

The man turned his head to glance in the child’s direction, as if he couldn’t believe there was a baby behind him unless he saw for himself. The man started to turn his head back to Jack but as he opened his mouth Jack’s flat palm had smacked him across the face.

"Look at yourself clearly for once, man! Is that your baby? Give it hope for a better existence! What are you afraid of? That you will be owned? You’re already owned, man! You’re owned by your hunger, by your situation, by your ignorance. This society is large, you can make it