Word Sprint
Exercise #4:
The fine, fitted suit felt like a corset.
Don looked himself over in the mirror, still stained with steam rolling forth from the marble-tiled shower. He looked like a god, adorned with the finest of cloth and surrounded by the hot mist. The double Windsor tie a blood red; a sheen of imposing power. Yet Don knew it was all pre-selected to hide his own cowardice. His own shame.
He snapped out of his trance, and exited the large, imperial bathroom. His hotel room was the size of a house, with its own living room, kitchen, bar, and balcony over-looking Seattle. All paid on the company’s platinum plastic. All was at his disposal. And he had only just turned twenty-one.
He sat on the magnificently cushioned bed, overwhelmed by the comfortability of this place. How could he have so much, and fill so hollow?
It had all been thrust upon him. This was no home. These weren’t his clothes. This wasn’t his money. He hadn’t earned it. He had been born into it. Don was a prince, becoming a king of an empire.
If Don could have done anything to avoid it, he would have. In high school he had run away seven times. He wanted no part in his father’s business. After a while, his father stopped calling the cops on him. Stopped sending the dogs on him, stopped searching for him, and just waited till he came home. Like a dog. Every time.
Don stared down at the iced metropolis streets, steam rising from the sewer drains upon the cold morning air. The truth was Don was afraid of the world. He was afraid because he didn’t know what he wanted to be. And even if he did, he wouldn’t know how. He felt overpowered and manipulated by his father, but he couldn’t help but come back, entranced by it.
In a way, he wanted to be a slave. To be told what to do. That was easier. So now, he would be the Executive Director. And one day, overthrow his scum of a father to take his black throne as CEO.
A knock at the door. Don walked over, not yet adjusted to his new royal skin. He opened the door, and a man also in a fine suit, who wore it far better than him, announced to him that his limo awaited him downstairs.
Damn. They could have just called up. Instead they sent this man to the door. Father is trying to make an impression.
Don knew that his father knew he hated this. And his father was trying to make him love it. And the power was consuming him. He was afraid, but for once, it was intoxicating. He knew power and control and destiny were at his fingertips like never before. Then why do I still feel like a puppet?
Soon, without even noticing it, he was in the limo, whisked away. The dull gray sky was always the same.
And there it was. The skyscraper. The Fountainhead Corp.
He suddenly was in the lobby, beneath a giant gold chandelier. Even the elevator doors were gold. Or was it all fake? It didn’t matter. The doors parted, and there was a familiar face. A tall french man. His father’s butler.
A gray handle bar mustache. Don couldn’t help but smile.
“So father sent you to butter me up?”
He entered the golden prison. He barely noticed it start moving up. A hundred floors to go. All the way to the tippie top.
“Of course, sire.”
“Please don’t. Of all people, Gregory, you know.”
“You must do what you must do.”
“What I was born for. I know. But what if I don’t want to be my father?”
“The title does not mean you have to be him. You can be whoever you want to be. You can run the company however you want to.”
“That can’t be.”
“Though you are Executive today, you will transition to being CEO in less than a month. The board can do nothing about it. It was in your father’s will.”
“What?”
“They didn’t tell you? He finally passed.”
Don flinched. “Why am I not surprised.”
They rode in silence.
“He never called me. Never told me.”
“Why would he? He probably thought you’d just run away again. If you didn’t take his place, what would his legacy be but stolen by these good for nothing wolves? There is no honor among thieves.”
“Don’t pretend he was any better. Everything he took was from another. I don’t care how big this oil business is. No matter how rich they are. Their wealth does not prove that they earned this all.”
“And yet they have it. What belongs to men is what men take for themselves.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I actually do, Don. I actually do.”
Don turned away. Only ten floors left.
Gregory put his hand on Don’s shoulder. “Don’t mourn for me. I don’t see any tragedy in it. I only see tragedy in the fact that a boy can be given so much, and be turned so bitter a man by it.”
The door binged, opening.
“Today, you are given more than most will ever see in their entire lives. Make the most of it.”
“And if I am corrupted?”
“All our hands are stained by oil. Let not your blood be.”
Don stepped out. The gold doors shut. And behind him was the glass conference room.
He walked up to the receptionist, surrounded by a slab of quartz. He could see all of the Board members sitting around the black obsidian table, staring at him. None of them blinked. They hated him. They would serve him. They would own him. And only thick glass doors separated him from them.
“Please wait here. The Board isn’t ready for you yet.”
There were benches at the walls, but he knew they cost more than his car. He sat anyways.
The anxiety overwhelmed him. He couldn’t breathe, his corset of a suit closing in on his shivering chest. He could not play the part. He ran to the bathroom.
The bathroom looked as if it was sheer platinum. There were no faucets, just tall mirrors all of the way to the too-tall ceiling, and holes in the walls with a ruby button and sapphire button above. The Fountainhead Oil Corporation flaunted their wealth. He vomited all over it.
Don knew he had no choice. If he ran away, he would do nothing with his life. He would be only slightly better than a homeless man, wandering his years away. Maybe he’d find happiness. Maybe a good woman who would love him. But he’d always be afraid of what was behind him. Of the unknown. At least here, he would have power. And if there was fear, he could always call upon the name of his father. Call upon his way. Then the men of the world would obey him. Hate him, but fear him. Just as the Fountainhead Oil Corporation had dominated over the Middle East. The world was his oyster. He would be forever alone. Forever a façade. Forever to have no one to be as thick as thieves with, all the while surrounded by thieves. But no one would ever be able to call out his fear. No one would ever know he was choking.
He turned toward the door. He just stared at it. His destiny. He knew there was no hall beyond it. Just the conference room with the Board waiting for him to take what was his.
But instead, what he saw was, as clear as day, a long black hallway.
Dripping with oil and blood. And the tiled floor of the hallway was resting upon thousands of skulls and bones, little children barely alive, their skin tight like melted leather against their bones, their screams muffled by their corpse-like parents, trying to protect them from the weight of the heavy tiles. The tiles were smooth on the surface, whipped clean of blood and sweat. And they were speckled with gold. And silver. They were like icebergs, hiding the morbid truth beneath a glistening gorgeous surface. And at the end of the hallway of tiles, a door of pure platinum. It opened, and there was a casket. And inside, was his rotting father. His father sat up, his throat opened, and poured out a calling. Join me.
Don couldn’t scream. He spun around, fleeing away from the door. He ran into one of the bathroom stalls. Don fell on his knees, trying to force himself to vomit. But there was nothing left.
And then he did.
Floating amidst the intestinal debris was his reflection. No. It wasn’t his face he was staring at.
“I Am God.”
Don looked up. There was no one else in the bathroom. And he hadn’t said that.
“I call you to a new destiny. One not so easy.”
Don couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stared back into the toilet. Into the muck. “Am I going crazy?”
“Probably. Insanity is common to man.”
Don couldn’t believe it. He knelt closer, hugging the toilet.
“What am I to do? I have never known. Please. Please. Tell me what to do. Anything. I’ll do anything. Just tell me.”
“No. That is the problem.”
“What?”
“You seek to follow. To be carried. But you have a new door to walk through. Your father is dead. But I will always live on. I live on through you. As millions suffer across the world while your people reign prosperously and complacently over them. Your people crush them. And they complain. Because it is not comfortable enough.”
Don was speechless.
“I Am in the muck.”
The muck and image began to distort, swirling like a hurricane. Suddenly Don looked up, seeing a red light. The toilet’s motion detector had gone off, the toilet flushing.
“No! Please! Come back! What am I supposed to do?!”
The bathroom door creaked open.
Don froze. Sweat poured down his forehead. Don saw heels under the stall, standing in the doorway.
“Don Baker. They are waiting for you.”
“I’ll be there in just a moment!” Don quickly stood, slamming his head on the door. Hard. He stumbled.
Don turned, out the stall door. The receptionist was already gone, the door swinging shut in her wake.
There was no hallway of horror. Just Don alone again in the bathroom.
Don stumbled toward the mirror. He was shocked at his appearance. His tie was lose, his collar in dismay, a thin strand of blood parting down his forehead, his hair disheveled, and his shirt stained in sweat.
He would have to quickly fix his appearance.
Instead, Don marched out the bathroom.
---
The Board waited, the colorless bland sky their back drop.
The glass doors parted. The receptionist held the door open. Her voice quaked. “I present, Don Baker, new Executive Director and future…CEO of Fountainhead.”
The Board gasped.
Don walked in. A train wreck wasn’t exactly the word for it, but close.
Don stood at the head of the table. A cush chair before him. His black throne.
He pushed it aside.
“Today, things are going to run a little differently.”
As Thick as Muck
The fine, fitted suit felt like a corset.
Don looked himself over in the mirror, still stained with steam rolling forth from the marble-tiled shower. He looked like a god, adorned with the finest of cloth and surrounded by the hot mist. The double Windsor tie a blood red; a sheen of imposing power. Yet Don knew it was all pre-selected to hide his own cowardice. His own shame.
He snapped out of his trance, and exited the large, imperial bathroom. His hotel room was the size of a house, with its own living room, kitchen, bar, and balcony over-looking Seattle. All paid on the company’s platinum plastic. All was at his disposal. And he had only just turned twenty-one.
He sat on the magnificently cushioned bed, overwhelmed by the comfortability of this place. How could he have so much, and fill so hollow?
It had all been thrust upon him. This was no home. These weren’t his clothes. This wasn’t his money. He hadn’t earned it. He had been born into it. Don was a prince, becoming a king of an empire.
If Don could have done anything to avoid it, he would have. In high school he had run away seven times. He wanted no part in his father’s business. After a while, his father stopped calling the cops on him. Stopped sending the dogs on him, stopped searching for him, and just waited till he came home. Like a dog. Every time.
Don stared down at the iced metropolis streets, steam rising from the sewer drains upon the cold morning air. The truth was Don was afraid of the world. He was afraid because he didn’t know what he wanted to be. And even if he did, he wouldn’t know how. He felt overpowered and manipulated by his father, but he couldn’t help but come back, entranced by it.
In a way, he wanted to be a slave. To be told what to do. That was easier. So now, he would be the Executive Director. And one day, overthrow his scum of a father to take his black throne as CEO.
A knock at the door. Don walked over, not yet adjusted to his new royal skin. He opened the door, and a man also in a fine suit, who wore it far better than him, announced to him that his limo awaited him downstairs.
Damn. They could have just called up. Instead they sent this man to the door. Father is trying to make an impression.
Don knew that his father knew he hated this. And his father was trying to make him love it. And the power was consuming him. He was afraid, but for once, it was intoxicating. He knew power and control and destiny were at his fingertips like never before. Then why do I still feel like a puppet?
Soon, without even noticing it, he was in the limo, whisked away. The dull gray sky was always the same.
And there it was. The skyscraper. The Fountainhead Corp.
He suddenly was in the lobby, beneath a giant gold chandelier. Even the elevator doors were gold. Or was it all fake? It didn’t matter. The doors parted, and there was a familiar face. A tall french man. His father’s butler.
A gray handle bar mustache. Don couldn’t help but smile.
“So father sent you to butter me up?”
He entered the golden prison. He barely noticed it start moving up. A hundred floors to go. All the way to the tippie top.
“Of course, sire.”
“Please don’t. Of all people, Gregory, you know.”
“You must do what you must do.”
“What I was born for. I know. But what if I don’t want to be my father?”
“The title does not mean you have to be him. You can be whoever you want to be. You can run the company however you want to.”
“That can’t be.”
“Though you are Executive today, you will transition to being CEO in less than a month. The board can do nothing about it. It was in your father’s will.”
“What?”
“They didn’t tell you? He finally passed.”
Don flinched. “Why am I not surprised.”
They rode in silence.
“He never called me. Never told me.”
“Why would he? He probably thought you’d just run away again. If you didn’t take his place, what would his legacy be but stolen by these good for nothing wolves? There is no honor among thieves.”
“Don’t pretend he was any better. Everything he took was from another. I don’t care how big this oil business is. No matter how rich they are. Their wealth does not prove that they earned this all.”
“And yet they have it. What belongs to men is what men take for themselves.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I actually do, Don. I actually do.”
Don turned away. Only ten floors left.
Gregory put his hand on Don’s shoulder. “Don’t mourn for me. I don’t see any tragedy in it. I only see tragedy in the fact that a boy can be given so much, and be turned so bitter a man by it.”
The door binged, opening.
“Today, you are given more than most will ever see in their entire lives. Make the most of it.”
“And if I am corrupted?”
“All our hands are stained by oil. Let not your blood be.”
Don stepped out. The gold doors shut. And behind him was the glass conference room.
He walked up to the receptionist, surrounded by a slab of quartz. He could see all of the Board members sitting around the black obsidian table, staring at him. None of them blinked. They hated him. They would serve him. They would own him. And only thick glass doors separated him from them.
“Please wait here. The Board isn’t ready for you yet.”
There were benches at the walls, but he knew they cost more than his car. He sat anyways.
The anxiety overwhelmed him. He couldn’t breathe, his corset of a suit closing in on his shivering chest. He could not play the part. He ran to the bathroom.
The bathroom looked as if it was sheer platinum. There were no faucets, just tall mirrors all of the way to the too-tall ceiling, and holes in the walls with a ruby button and sapphire button above. The Fountainhead Oil Corporation flaunted their wealth. He vomited all over it.
Don knew he had no choice. If he ran away, he would do nothing with his life. He would be only slightly better than a homeless man, wandering his years away. Maybe he’d find happiness. Maybe a good woman who would love him. But he’d always be afraid of what was behind him. Of the unknown. At least here, he would have power. And if there was fear, he could always call upon the name of his father. Call upon his way. Then the men of the world would obey him. Hate him, but fear him. Just as the Fountainhead Oil Corporation had dominated over the Middle East. The world was his oyster. He would be forever alone. Forever a façade. Forever to have no one to be as thick as thieves with, all the while surrounded by thieves. But no one would ever be able to call out his fear. No one would ever know he was choking.
He turned toward the door. He just stared at it. His destiny. He knew there was no hall beyond it. Just the conference room with the Board waiting for him to take what was his.
But instead, what he saw was, as clear as day, a long black hallway.
Dripping with oil and blood. And the tiled floor of the hallway was resting upon thousands of skulls and bones, little children barely alive, their skin tight like melted leather against their bones, their screams muffled by their corpse-like parents, trying to protect them from the weight of the heavy tiles. The tiles were smooth on the surface, whipped clean of blood and sweat. And they were speckled with gold. And silver. They were like icebergs, hiding the morbid truth beneath a glistening gorgeous surface. And at the end of the hallway of tiles, a door of pure platinum. It opened, and there was a casket. And inside, was his rotting father. His father sat up, his throat opened, and poured out a calling. Join me.
Don couldn’t scream. He spun around, fleeing away from the door. He ran into one of the bathroom stalls. Don fell on his knees, trying to force himself to vomit. But there was nothing left.
And then he did.
Floating amidst the intestinal debris was his reflection. No. It wasn’t his face he was staring at.
“I Am God.”
Don looked up. There was no one else in the bathroom. And he hadn’t said that.
“I call you to a new destiny. One not so easy.”
Don couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stared back into the toilet. Into the muck. “Am I going crazy?”
“Probably. Insanity is common to man.”
Don couldn’t believe it. He knelt closer, hugging the toilet.
“What am I to do? I have never known. Please. Please. Tell me what to do. Anything. I’ll do anything. Just tell me.”
“No. That is the problem.”
“What?”
“You seek to follow. To be carried. But you have a new door to walk through. Your father is dead. But I will always live on. I live on through you. As millions suffer across the world while your people reign prosperously and complacently over them. Your people crush them. And they complain. Because it is not comfortable enough.”
Don was speechless.
“I Am in the muck.”
The muck and image began to distort, swirling like a hurricane. Suddenly Don looked up, seeing a red light. The toilet’s motion detector had gone off, the toilet flushing.
“No! Please! Come back! What am I supposed to do?!”
The bathroom door creaked open.
Don froze. Sweat poured down his forehead. Don saw heels under the stall, standing in the doorway.
“Don Baker. They are waiting for you.”
“I’ll be there in just a moment!” Don quickly stood, slamming his head on the door. Hard. He stumbled.
Don turned, out the stall door. The receptionist was already gone, the door swinging shut in her wake.
There was no hallway of horror. Just Don alone again in the bathroom.
Don stumbled toward the mirror. He was shocked at his appearance. His tie was lose, his collar in dismay, a thin strand of blood parting down his forehead, his hair disheveled, and his shirt stained in sweat.
He would have to quickly fix his appearance.
Instead, Don marched out the bathroom.
---
The Board waited, the colorless bland sky their back drop.
The glass doors parted. The receptionist held the door open. Her voice quaked. “I present, Don Baker, new Executive Director and future…CEO of Fountainhead.”
The Board gasped.
Don walked in. A train wreck wasn’t exactly the word for it, but close.
Don stood at the head of the table. A cush chair before him. His black throne.
He pushed it aside.
“Today, things are going to run a little differently.”
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