Bongineer

The story of Ernie: Rock Bottom...


Ernie smoothed out the bits of dust and gently swept them off the ledge. He looked to his right and did the same. He smudged his thumb on the piece of concrete between his legs and picked it up slowly so that the particles clung to his skin. He blew a small wind out of his mouth and didn’t watch them flutter down.

The sky was black, and to him there was a sharp distinction between its rich empty color and the imitation black of the skyscraper’s windows in front of him just 100 feet. To his left he saw the ledge and the blackness, and to his right the same. There were a few lonely lights in the building opposite him, and he could just barely make out one man at his desk, his head cradled in his hands. Ernie watched him for a while, but he did not move. He raised a middle finger to the man, then let it drop freely in an arch back down to the ledge.

He shifted his eyes to the sky, and noticed that it was not impossible to see the stars in the hectic city. He counted them closely, and in a few short seconds had picked out nine. The moon was mostly hidden by clouds, and it didn’t give him much light. His thin concrete perch was lit from behind by the security light of the elevator shaft.

He had told his boss earlier that day that he would be staying late to finish up some long overdue work that had been bothering him. When his boss put on a puzzled face, Ernie had motioned towards a pile of papers on the edge of his desk. His boss had told him not to pressure himself too much, but to finish what needed to be done. Ernie nodded his head earnestly, but he was thinking about something entirely different. The pile of papers had been printouts of about eight different porn stories.

Now, as a cold breeze cut his ears and nose, Ernie breathed in deep. He couldn’t feel the air enter his mouth or lungs. He was surprised that he could feel the wind blowing against his face, but the air he inhaled didn’t touch the inside of his mouth at all. The yellow sounds of busy cars far below him annoyed him, and he tried to tune them out. He focused himself back on his immediate surroundings. A page out of the newspaper was pressed up against the corner of the edge of the roof, propelled by the wind. It wasn’t going anywhere, and was barely even changing position as the wind threw much of it’s might towards it. Idle, he thought.

Ernie closed his eyes, and as he did the voice of his ex-wife echoed through his head. She asked him what he would like for dinner tonight, and would he drop by the grocery store to pick up some French bread. She had told him how she was going to rent a new movie that was supposed to be good. He had always kissed her on the neck before he left for work every morning.

"Wow, that was seven ****ing months ago," he said out loud. After he had said it and when he had opened his eyes, he caught sight of a pigeon standing on the ledge to his left. It was a short, pudgy little bird, and it was facing Ernie, as if listening to what he had said. Ernie thought this was out of character for a pigeon, but he kept his hands cupped on the angle of the ledge and made sure not to frighten it. It was only about six feet away from him, and seemed to enjoy Ernie’s company as much as Ernie enjoyed his. Ernie kept talking.

"I’ve applied for a promotion five times in the past four months. My boss says I handle my current position extremely well, and that he needs me there for right now. Do you buy that ****?"

The pigeon shifted his feet, but didn’t move his head.
"Who gives a ****, though? Not me. I was in the coffee shop today and I told the lady could I please have another cup because this one was a little cold. She told me that it wasn’t her fault and sorry mister, and when I persisted she told me I could stick it up my ass to warm it up a bit. What would you have done, Paco?"

His silent audience stared back at him in anticipation.

"Anyway, I smiled at her and told her thanks for her help. Once she left I went up to the counter and got a few extra cups from a different employee. I took them back to my table and stacked them on top of each other, top to top and bottom to bottom, until I had a couple stacked up there. It must have been at least three. That’s a hell of a lot for those coffee cups, you know?"

The pigeon kept his eyes on Ernie.

"Well, the top one had its bottom edge in the air, and I put the bottom of my full cup ever so delicately on top of it and so the stack was top-heavy. Right, by now a couple of people were watching me and it really was a regular damn spectator sport as I eased back out of my chair, took a few steps to the door of the coffee shop, bowed to my audience and slammed the door hard behind me. I heard a few gasps but I never looked back."

Ernie thought he saw the pigeon’s chest heave.

"And then I keyed a Mercedes on the way to my car." The pigeon rocked back and forth now as he eased a little closer to Ernie, pushing his head out in front of him. Ernie sighed, and hooked his hands on the inside edge of the concrete ridge. He leaned out over the vast space below him, and strained his eyes to see a fast food restaurant on the opposite side of the street.

"Wendy’s. Strange how there’s one of those where kids go to buy happy meals and pokemon action figures, and another where you can get a BJ for cheap."

Ernie scoped out the atmosphere once again. He briefly examined the quality of the concrete he was sitting on, then punched it for good measure.

"Why do people do this ****? Why would someone argue with their wife? I bet you don’t have any women problems. If you even are a man pigeon. A woman told me yesterday I almost ran over her kid. I looked up at her out of the window of my car and promptly told her what a shame that I didn’t. She was taken aback. I said good day and continued driving. Do you ever feel like you should feel something, but you don’t? Like if your pigeon wife comes home with another man pigeon’s scent on her? And what would you do if two weeks later she told you to find another nest? Get pissed? Get sad? I don’t even remember what I was supposed to feel anymore, much less what I actually did feel."

Paco bowed his head down. Ernie figured he must be in deep thought.

"And what’s this **** about depression? I don’t even think depression is real. A figment, or pigment, or whatever the hell people have in their imaginations. A figment, I’m almost sure. A figment of people’s imaginations to help them draw attention and have an excuse to stay home from work. Or kill themselves."

Ernie laughed out loud and looked at the pigeon hastily. He launched a loogie out into the open sky, and once again did not watch it fall.

"There are probably multitudes of children in Ethiopia who die of dehydration, and here I sit freely discarding my moisture into the abyss of night. I think it’s quaint. What sayeth you?"

For a second Ernie thought the pigeon might talk, but he didn’t. Ernie squinted his eyes, then shrugged his shoulders. He peered down into the awaiting scene. Next to McDonalds on the street that he stood over there was a large banner that read:


Apathy Treatment can help you too.



How cute, he thought.

"There’s my target, Paco. Ten bucks says I short it." He turned around and stepped back onto the rooftop floor. He got a crisp ten dollar bill out of his wallet and laid it on the ledge next to the pigeon. Ernie walked back to the elevator and took his blazer off. He gave a thumbs up to the pigeon, then ran as fast as he could to the ledge, planted his foot firmly on the ledge and vaulted himself into the air.

He kept his facial expression perfectly composed to a dull stare.





The end...

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Bongineer (bông'j-nîr)
"All perception of truth is the detection of an analogy."

Faerywings

That was good story. You have an ingenius style of writing; partly morbid but entertaining. keep writing
*Faerywings*

potheadreturns2

Brilliantly written, I never suspected you could illustrate things so wonderfully. You are trully a writer, bongineer. I insist that you keep writing.... I demand I see more! My favorite part is how visual your descriptions are. It's really proffessional.

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