Oh hey, remeber me? I'm kind of important, my name used to be blue, motherfucking blue (I think it was blue, oh yeah it was red too). Anyway, I left, a long time ago, and I thought, "I'm bored, might as well come fuck around with the people I would talk to on MSN anyway". So yeah, life has been good. I've been playing my 360, I have Fallout 3, Left 4 Dead, Call of Duty : World at War and Gears of War 2, so if you wanna play just ask, if you aren't a vile piece of scum that I detest I'll add you on live.

In conclusion, a short story I have been working on, there take that.

Sanitation is a big deal aboard The Ship, everything is spotless, shiny, almost like a layer of pure silk or cashmere flowing in the wind. It hovers about 1000 meters above the ground, barely escaping the grimy dust of the trashed United States. At the deck level you can hear the 1000 powered generators keeping the ship afloat, all of them sparkling clean on the inside and out. In fact, there may not be one speck of dirt anywhere on The Ship, we learned our lesson once, we weren't about to go through it again.

The Ship was a mere sanctuary from the outside world, all the smartest minds, men, women, children, whoever could be saved. They were all here, on our own little Venus, an alternate reality so real, you'd never know there was a whole world out there, however dark it was. After the terrifying events of AD 3023, the war, depression, rebellion; someone took it upon themselves to create this sanctuary in the sky, away from the destruction, disease, and death. We're not even sure if there's life out there anymore, in all the chaos and disorderly destruction.

This was 200 years ago. Nobody has left the ship, nobody could even fathom a reason to. Everything was clean, everyone was happy, we were all rich and we were all poor, we were all alive floating in the cloud sanctuary. We had a government system led by one man, The Founder, the man we owed our lives to. We worked for him, we lived because of him, everything was alright in our minds. There was no need for rebellion against his dictatorship, everyone was happy. We lived the good life, sex, drugs, music, everyone had a steady government appointed job, various odd things. Whatever mythical force kept us all here, alive, and provided for; we didn't care about. We were blind and we never knew it.

The Ship, the last living hope of humanity, the sound of bullshit faith pounding in my ears. Just stuck in a daydream away from this place.

Beep

There it is again.

Beep

The sound jolting me back to life, back to this world of assembly lines, of false happiness, people working just to get back to their ritual activities. There's only one norm on this ship, and it's “party, party, partyâ€?, stuck in a wet dream 1000 meters above the ground. All I know is I have to run protocol on 50 more units, then I'm done for the day, free to lay in my sleeping quarters, alone and quiet. A dream away from this reality of shiny white halls, a dream for me, and a nightmare for others.

I've seen more beauty looking out the window in the library than I ever saw in this place. Maybe we were looking for love in all the wrong places…

We've all heard the story, how we came to be here, how the world destroyed itself. Pestilence, War, Famine, Death, the four horsemen reaped our hollowed earth, one by one by one by one until there was nothing left to see. The clouds replaced with ash, a foggy crimson haze of blood surrounded everything, staining the wind between your eyes. At least that's what we're told.

Disbelief is belief in my life, I'd rather live in darkness than put up with this bright place for another day, resisting the urge to stain my eyes red to push out the sparkling white, office buildings, sidewalks, dance halls, everything shiny, our own little false reality. Nothing can suppress my conquest for the real.

The rule is clear though, no one leaves. Why would anyone want to? This is “perfectionâ€?, everything we ever wanted on earth, X-Rated, approved by the FDA for any age. No standards anymore, it's all just one big party, enough drugs to make you never have to sleep, enough loose women to make any guy never want to leave.

She was in the library the other day, I wasn't sure anyone else knew this place existed. Standing there, looking out the window, her red hair dangling against her palish contour. Neither of us spoke a word, but it invoked thought into my mind. Why was she here, did she get lost after partying? Was her perception altered by some sort of substance? She seemed to understand what I wanted to know, for the first time I felt something strange.

She didn't stay long, maybe I am all alone in this desolate place, the only consciousness in a valley of dead souls. Would it be too much to ask for someone that agrees? Who would I ask, I never believed in any “godâ€?, I'm all alone in this hell, and I refuse to give in. Most men would be in heaven by now, blindly accept the prying eyes as they wander this world of the supermodel, superhuman, surrealistic.

Every day at the library, all alone, no drugs, no women, a pale blue dot against a white backdrop only visible by those who really look. The only man I ever perceived to reject this “perfectâ€? reality. Every day at the library, the same chair, a different book every time: Plato, Homer, Dante, Marx. He really seemed to reject the reality he was in, almost although he peacefully wished to destroy it. Something about him stuck with me, maybe I saw too much of myself inside of him, a silent soldier of death and destruction.

Was he looking for something more like me? Something far away from this place, in the clouds behind a Dali panting, something more than the wind between his eyes. Did he crave the wind between mine? We were only human, if anything.

The library used to be my solitary getaway, all alone, buried deep in a book, rebellion, conquest, hope of people, everything was dystopian. And then her, a bloody stain in this shiny white world, all I ever wanted to see was right in front of me, hiding behind a book rack. My only thoughts were what could be going on in her head. Did she seek the outside walls? Maybe we could escape forever, there must be some way out of here, nothing can stop love and desire.

What do I do here? Talk to her, goad her into conversation, ask her views. The situation perplexes me. In all hope, I may not be alone, there may be someone to help me face my inner demons, someone to leave and love with. I wonder what she's thinking right now.

Then I heard it..

It was a faint buzzing, then a few short beeps. I was started for a moment, and nearly stumbled out form behind the shelves, then a loud voice boomed over the intercom. The library doors shut themselves closed, almost as if they knew I would escape, something was happening. The voice was speaking out, calling to me, trapped in a mindless haze, I weakly thudded into the ground. Everything remained distorted, a black and white roll of film on a slow moving reel, freeze framed and spinning. Everything went black, I was ready to accept my death.

There was no faint drip of water, no rats, no shackles or chains, just a bed and shiny white walls. Nothing to even suggest imprisonment, but I knew what it was before I even tried the doorknob. Here I was, trapped in my own little hell, and there was nothing I could do about it.

The last thing I remember seeing was her, she tumbled out of stacks in slow motion, crashing her head into the ground as I sat there, paralyzed by whatever substance ailed us. I wanted so badly to help her, to grab her body and run, to find a way out of this place, into the world unknown, beyond the ash clouds and crimson fog. There was nothing I could do.

The door clicked open and a bight light illuminated my cell, bending around a figure like the suns red rays bend around the moon, almost divinely. As he walked up to me, all I could feel inside of myself was an immense rage, what had happened to her?

“The Founder is unpleased with your progressâ€? he said calmly, “perhaps you should make more use of the facilities provided to youâ€?.

I said nothing, I couldn't dignify that bastard with my response, watch the satisfied look on his face as I succumbed to his shadow of fear.

“Maybe you should consider what you're doing to yourself here, you could be happy you knowâ€? he remarked, as he turned and headed for the door.

My vision blurred and turned red with tears, overcome with rage I leaped upon him, embedding his face into the shiny wall. I watched satisfied as the area around me slowly crept from red to white, covered by blood like an army of fire ants crawling out over a ground of shattered porcelain. This was the first time I saw the white being cleansed with red, and it was something peaceful.

My vision blurred as I awoke to a bright light. Was this heaven? It couldn't be, I refused to believe in such a bright place, not after all the brightness I've seen. The first thing that arrived to my senses was the silence, a place so quiet you could hear a ghost pass through. After years of hearing nothing but music and seeing strobe lights, this was amazing, like absolute zero in my ears and eyes. I could only wish this lasted forever, then the door slammed open.

“Hello pretty girl, what's a pretty girl like you doing hereâ€?

He spoke with a heavy Russian accent, trying to come off like a smooth person. He stood about 6 feet tall, the light from the door behind him shone like a flare ripping a pupil open, and for the first time in my life, I felt a little scared.

“Why don't you party with the rest of the girls, you might like it, all the guys here are nice, we give you good drugs and parties all night.â€?

I stared at him, as he stood in silence waiting for a reply, maybe a scorn of ignorance, but still I refused to reply.

“You little bitch, say somethingâ€? he cried, as he raised his hand to hit me.

I cowered back on the floor in fear, protecting my head with my arms, awaiting the Russians stone fist. I felt nothing, just a spray of wetness along my arms, I looked up only to see myself covered in blood, it's beautiful red all over my arms and dress, sprayed along the floor and seeping out of the back of the Russians head. There he stood in the doorway, light surrounding his thin figure, the man from the library, a steel pipe in his hand, walking over to me.