The pins & needle factory

On a cold boring Tuesday morning (insert name here) walked in to a lamp post six hours later they awoke in a paranoid state of confusion in a hospital ward unable to speak a word of the native tongue that the doctors and nurses were speaking, their head now cleanly shaven with a set of newly acquired hearing aids super glued to their ears. The only thing they truly understood was that their now pulsating heart sitting firmly ensconced in their  chest with the tale tale signs he had been electronically resuscitated the burn marks  around the rib cage they were still alive . “It’s not the day they planed for ” they said to themselves. It’s almost as if the translate button was wavering between all the languages of the world. The pins and needles surging through the mind and soul seemed endless.

Meanwhile in another part of town.

The vestige of a broken man lying down in his dormancy. The vestibule had a funny smell of incense and innocence that wafted from the ceiling to the old organ puffing in and out like an old fashioned locomotive. The chimes of the medieval clock  rang out the small carefully carved and crafted clockwork models with their little hammers beating the bell in unison hour after hour.

even as he sat praying to the gods that engineer but never replied to his constant but wavering voice the mumbling of the text from the well read and worn religious  manuscript that sat perched on the pew in front of his eyes, his arthritic knees giving way the irony that even in the house of the ancient ideas of gods no silence could be found for if there is no silence in these four  walls with not even a mouse how could there be silence in heaven.

the stain glass with its patterns of nature carefully mimicked streamed through were we forgiven ? but no reply came. The verses the incense the candles flickering.  the oak door creaked and a mouse scuttled across the old tiled and well worn floor. He had seen it all before through the eyes of the many generations before himself long before there was a building ,when there was just a field.

Outside the wheels of modern industry kept turning the new towers with all their phallic symbols soaring into the sky a tax break in disguise, the mouse reached for his suitcase took his hat off the stand and walked out of his so called restful place turning the key in the lock for final time if he was going to have to listen to the ranting of the la la land he might as well do so in a place in the sun. With that his golf club in hand he walked out into the not so fresh air.

it would seem the asylum had been over run once again. Even in hell they were freezing. As the rope ladder was thrown over the flat roof,time was of the essence even for an out shape rock climber the terrain of a 12 foot brick wall was vertical.

waving good bye to the woman he had just traded for pocket change for his own personal  freedom currently dressed in his clothes he knew now there could never a return to the bossom  of his family as scaled the wall dressed as a woman. The staff to busy with distraction of a fight kicking off in one of the hall ways and the compliant nurse cut in on a deal and a promise . As he reached the summit the sight of running soft topped car revving to go, he quickly pulls the rope ladder over and lowers it down the other side. As he ran for the car his wig flew off with no time too reach backwards and grab his disguise he jumps into the awaiting vehicle and speeds of leaving the dust trails in their wake.

as they roared down the Broadway towards their great escape if only they taken heed of there friendly mechanic and had the brakes serviced at regular intervals as they took the sharp corner where the road twists and turns the sound of the local radio playing loudly from the speakers like perforated detached retinas. The car spun and veered up the pavement soaring through the air like a flying grey squirrel and landing like a piano falling from the sky into the local electrical wholesale shop, the carnage the demonstrator washing machine laying on its side  pumping bubbles into the air frothing at is mouth as if overdosing on a generic powder for white than whites, the smashed television sets blinking and smoking. and a man standing at his counter blinking his coffee in his hand with not a drop spilt .The car now firmly wedged between the walls of the shop they crashed into and the premises immediately adjacent where the radio station was based turntable still spinning with the dj a ghostly shade of white than white half eaten pork pie in hand.

“we shall be rrrrrrrrright bbbbbbback we seem to be having a technical difficulty and here A song  to occupy your senses ”

as the sounds of sirens and flashing blue lights the me ma me ma me ma blaring through the fog horn leg horns strapped to the ambulance