Re: It's a Dog Eat Dog World: Act 1
Atticus inhaled and exhaled deeply through his nose as his eyes moved slowly over the words on the page. He sat alone in the living room of his humble home which was moderately furnished and had a decidedly "homey feel" according to everyone who had ever been a guest within its walls. There was no television or sign of any sort of electronics with the exception of a small wooden radio which sat upon a table holding various frames which held various pictures of various people of whom Atticus had never met. In many ways it reminded Atticus of his grandparent's home where he would visit in the summers as a small boy.
In his left hand he held a small well worn book with a black leather cover and his right held a delicate teacup less than half full and smelling faintly of peppermint. He sat in a comfortable high-backed chair with his right leg crossed casually over his left knee so that his hands rested easily upon his upper leg. The room was nearly silent and dark lit only by a single reading lamp that sat upon the small table to his right which also held the small teacup's matching saucer. The only other sounds beside his own breathing, sipping, and turning of pages, was the rhythmic counter clicking of an antique wooden grandfather clock. It was this uninterrupted silence that drew Atticus to rise each morning before the appearance of the sun and before the greater populace of the Yellows began their daily routines of survival and recovery.
As if on cue, a small red-golden shaft of light appeared through the slightly parted curtains of Atticus' window striking him in the center of his chest. Looking up he could see the color of the world outside changing slowly from black to ever lighter shades of purple. In the solitary beam of light he watched countless flecks of dust dance and swirl seemingly happy to be illuminated and greeted by the faithfulness of the sun's warming presence. "Ah, the sun," he silently contemplated, "Ever faithful despite our own unfaithfulness. What a contrast to the current disheveled and chaotic state in which we now find ourselves." He continued to follow the beam of light to himself where he found it falling on a vest button which hung slightly askew. Setting the cup of tea down on its saucer he frowned through pursed lips as he examined the button's condition. He found its position secure yet in need of some careful attention. He wore one of his favorite suits. It had an unassuming quality though it was well made and sturdy having carried out its intended purpose faithfully and continually well beyond its intended life expectancy. "Kind of like you, old man," he thought to himself with a laugh that consisted of a closed-mouth smile and a series of sharp nasal exhalations. "I shall have to mend you later," he told the button adding a mental line on his day's to-do list.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling slowly with each sequence. After a few moments he closed the small book in his left hand and returned it to his inner left vest pocket. He stood and adjusted his vest with a careful downward pull at the sides and front. Then he adjusted the double Windsor knot of his tie with a series of back and forth movements until it sat comfortably on his neck and fell properly under his suit vest which finally he smoothed. Reaching down he clicked off the lamp which was quickly becoming unnecessary in the growing light provided by the ascending sun. He picked up the saucer and cup and walked to the kitchen where he washed and rinsed the cup with his fingers before placing the set carefully on the side of the sink. He reached up towards the kitchen window and brought down a small potted single sunflower which he watered before returning it to its place on the sill and turning it so that its petals could drink in the sun's nourishment.
Giving his living room and his front door one last look, he walked to his study at the back of his home. Entering he closed the door and looked around. His study was a windowless wood paneled room of medium size and minimal furnishings. It held a mahogany writing desk which contained various papers neatly organized and covered in his careful flowing cursive script. Its only other furnishings were a small sitting couch, a picture depicting a brick lighthouse withstanding an unimaginably large blue-green ocean wave which crashed and frothed around it, and a two-walled bookcase made of the same dark polished wood as the room's desk. The room itself was lit by a single tall standing lamp situated next to the desk. The bookcase was filled with works of various shapes, sizes, colors, and conditions. Some had expensive looking leather bindings with gold inlaid titles while others contained only fragments of their original bindings. Some were hard-backed while others were soft-backed or spiral-bound and some were merely binders holding various loose pages. As he looked over his books, Atticus felt the familiar and quiet sense of joy that he associated with them. Like the sun, these books, or rather the knowledge they contained, were something he considered to be above the sullying grasp of the fingers of deceitful and faithless men. Of course knowledge had been abused or manipulated throughout history, but true knowledge, once properly given and received, could never be taken or stolen or killed even though one's body be abused or broken.
He walked up to a row of dark leather-bound books and inhaled deeply savoring the scent of their pages with an appreciative smile. He walked toward the corner of the case gently trailing a finger along the various bindings as he went. Five feet from the joined corner of the case and with his finger on the binding of a single volume of what appeared to be an encyclopedic collection, he stopped. Looking straight at the bookcase he spoke softly and meaningfully saying, "Let the little children come unto me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven." A moment after speaking he removed his right index finger from the book's binding. Another moment later a tone chimed from the case's corner followed by the sound of rushing air as if an irritated librarian were suddenly hushing a table of unruly college students. As the "hush" faded, there was the sound of seals separating and the case before him began traveling silently to his right where it was disappearing into the wall against which sat his desk. The case moved six feet to the right revealing behind it a polished stainless steel door which parted in the middle exposing a wood paneled elevator within. Atticus stepped into the elevator and pushed the single button lining the wall which responded by lighting orange at his touch. He looked down at his vest contemplating once again his loose button as the doors of the elevator sealed themselves closed removing Atticus from the sight of his study. As the elevator began to descend behind it, the bookcase dutifully began its journey back to its place of rest. Once its seals had re-inflated, the only sound heard in the home of Atticus Jeremiah was the easy and continuous "click-click" of an antique grandfather clock.
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