Idiots in the Machine (15th Anniversary Edition) by Edward Savio

Author:Edward Savio [Savio, Edward]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Humor & Entertainment, Humor, Satire, Literature & Fiction, Humor & Satire, Humorous, General Humor
Publisher: Babelfish Press
Published: 2014-09-23T05:00:00+00:00

XVII. New Year’s Resolution

Kafka said every revolution eventually evaporates and leaves behind only the slime of a new bureaucracy.

The Foil Thing hadn’t started any mass revolt, yet Ion could sense the slime already queuing up outside the door. Talk shows and tabloid news programs desperate for something—anything—different had been calling since Peter Marks issued a press release on the 27th. Talent coordinators on the other end of the line loved the fact that this guy called himself “Satan,” which annoyed Ion to no end. And just this morning—New Year’s Day, mind you—the Chicago Sun-Times phoned to find out what all the hoopla was about. Of course, she hung up on them.

The “legitimate” press had a condescending way of making the out-of-the-ordinary seem on the verge of being downright dull.

She had coughed on one person. And now, the virus was spreading like a wildfire. She would have little control over it, if any.

A frigid wind slipped in through the broken pane and slapped her in the face.

The breeze made a faint noise like the tinkle of bells, sending a shiver up her spine. It didn’t seem cold, although she knew it was. Satan was asleep, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her body warm. Slowly she turned to look at him. His face. He looked so innocent and sweet, his breathing shallow and warm. His left arm that went underneath and around her touched his own face so that the back of his hand rested on his lips.

She stared at him for a long time. Nearly twenty minutes. There was a welt on his forehead and his nose had some scratches on it, and a tiny bit of white mucus had dripped out during the night. She wondered how he had gotten the abrasions and the lump, but she forgot about them after awhile. There was something she felt which she couldn’t quite understand. It was warm and melancholy and it sat in her chest like a mug of hot spiced cider pressed against her on a winter day. She had the urge to reach out and touch his face, but it meant leaving the cocoon of his arms…and she didn’t want to do that, not now, not just yet.

Instead, she tilted her head and placed her lips softly on his arm, kissing his skin tenderly.

She almost felt like crying. And maybe she did. She was alone. It was her moment. No one else would ever know, would ever see the tears, so maybe it never happened.

She pulled her pretty lips away from his bicep and turned her head so that it lay on her pillow again. She smiled because she was happy. She cried because she had never experience happiness like it before.

So warm and so protected. A simple touch. Not from any man, not from her father, not from Peter or Jason or any of a hundred others. And there had been hundreds.

Not even from that guy that turned out to be a jerk who touched her more than most.

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