Inception

Inception


The pitch black summer sky overran the small buildings in the neighborhood. The man leaned against his black 2006 Mercedes Benz. The burning cigarette touched his lips as he took a deep satisfying breath. He wore a black sports jacket with a white collared shirt with the first two buttons undone. The man was in his early forties, with long shaggy hair and a long mustache and beard. He looked at his watch; it read 11:12. The cigarette was the only thing that lit up the darken street. Every light on the block was flickering or burnt out. It created a dark ambience that gave the man an awareness of approaching misfortune. A women that he loved sat inside, but refused to come outside. All he wanted was a few minutes to talk to her. His regret for letting her leave became stronger with every day that passed. He stood up flicking the cigarette into the street. Where is she? He had been getting very impatient and started pacing along the sidewalk. He pulled out his phone quickly pressing the buttons on the keypad. The screen read “Message Sent”. He stepped in his car and started the engine. He stared at the windshield clenching his teeth. He slammed his hands against the steering wheel. His eyes started to well up. He put his head against the wheel, crying.



Lauren clicked the pen again and again. The clicking echoed throughout the empty basement. She was curled up in a corner of the couch. The couch sat in the center of a cold basement in front of a big plasma T.V. The walls were painted with a fresh coat of paint that Lauren could still faintly smell. She sat there very content with a smile and wide eyes. Her hair was pulled up and she wore a dark sweatshirt and sweatpants. She was scribbling down a few sentences on a small note pad. She was becoming frustrated with what she was writing, but continued. Her eyes were trailing off looking at the ceiling. Her imagination was going wild, thinking about the deranged ideas she could write down. “I’m not liking this start too much”. She tore out the piece of paper, ripped it up, and threw it on the ground. She wanted to watch a favorite horror movie of hers, to give her some ideas. Deciding on what movie to watch, she pulled out her phone just as it was vibrating. She sat up taking out the phone. She opened the message, and read it. Her smile passed away quickly, and with an enigmatic cause.

The office was darkened from the blinds closed. The walls of the office were painted mint green, and contained 3 rows of shelves circling around the wall behind the mahogany desk. The air in the room was clouded with the fumes of the countless cigarettes smoked in that room. Jack was a bestselling novelist with six books published. He took up the job of writing after he wuit his previous job. Jack sat in his office intently starring at his computer. He continually pressed execute over and over. “This Goddamn computer will be the death of me”. He slammed his hand against the side of the old monitor. Jack was becoming frustrated with the computer, and with the landscape of papers piled on the edge of his desk. He pushed out the black leather office chair, standing up. He walked to the oak shelf nailed against the north wall. A boom box sat on the lowest level of the shelf. Jack pressed the “play” button, waiting for the music to begin. He sat on the ground and set the back of his head against the front of the desk. He reached into his pocket pulling out a crushed Marlboro box. He turned the box upside down hitting the bottom of frantically. Three cigarettes fell out of the small hole of the box. He grabbed a lighter from the top of the desk, and lit the white stick he held with his index finger and thumb. The music started to fill the office: “Why don't you ask the kids at Tiananmen Square? Was Fashion the reason why they were there? They disguise it, hypnotize it. Television made you buy it.” He gave a weird glance at the boom box, wondering what the hell they were talking about. He recently purchased the album and never heard it before. He lit the cigarette putting it in his mouth. He took a deep breath and exhaled the fumes from his mouth. He grabbed the album case that laid next to him. The album was for the band, System of a Down, the album being Hypnotize. He turned it over, his eyes scanning down the list of song. He took a few more puffs of it and smashed it against the desk. Starting to feel light- headed, he fell back down to the ground in his first attempt of standing up. He stood back up, again, reaching for the shelf and turned off the music. He swung open the glass doors of the office, and walked into his garage. He stepped into his car, and started the ignition. A remote hung over his head; he took it pressing the big red button. The dark, gloomy sight of the garage interior turned into this bright blaze of sunshine right in Jack’s eyes. Squinting at the light, Jack reached over to the passenger seat trying to find his sunglasses. The garage door slowly rose up to the ceiling. He drove out of the garage and down the driveway. He was driving to the minimart at the downtown area of the county. As he drove up to the store, he saw a couple cars, including his, parked up at the front of the parking lot. He pulled up to a handicapped spot, and stepped out of the car. The lot was still filled with puddles from the previous rainfall last night and the clouds were still dark gray. He ran inside, passing all of the aisles. The store was filled wih random and unnecessary items no one needed. Jack could hear the faint sound of simple soothing jazz music playing in his ears. He went down the last aisle traveling with great haste to the rack of cigarettes. He picked out a few boxes, as he looked over at the other side of the aisle. There sat a row of Nicorette lozenges. He laughed under his breath thinking of the irony. He dropped them at the counter starring at the women. As she slowly checked the items, Jack quickly tapped his fingers on the counter. She stopped her procedure looking at him. He started starring at her. He widened his eyes, “Well? I need to leave”. She gave him a condescending look: “I will continue when you stop tapping those fingers of yours on my workspace”.

Jack got home pulling the glass doors of the office shut again. He lit up another cigarette from the recently bought box. He sat down in the chair, again starring at the monitor. He looked over and over again at those words he wrote to her. What a mess he got in when he sent this to her. He clicked file, scrolled down to open. Looking through the list of documents, he found the file, and deleted it.



Lauren sat at her patio chair. She took out a Nicorette lozenge pack. She took out two tablets and threw them in her mouth. She began to smile again. Finally, her brother might actually die this time.

A couple hours later, Lauren arrived at the hospital late at night. Surprisingly, the hospital lobby was almost empty. She took the elevator up to the third floor, looking for the room 303A. She turned inside starring at her brother. He was pale and looked lifeless. “Jack?”