Perfection
Dear Sirs and Madams,
I
am writing to you on behalf of the human race established on the planet Earth
of the Milky Way galaxy. We humbly request a counsel to discuss the future of
this subset of the human race.
We
believe that we have lost our vitality and are becoming stagnant. We are
experiencing an unexpected epidemic of severe depressive states. We
respectfully request a species set back so that we can begin again. Thank you
kindly.
Sincerely
Yours,
Rigel
Nethers,
President of
the Earth Systems
A deep sigh escapes Rigel’s lips as the pen falls
back to the scarred wooden desktop, nearly rolling off of the edge. His eyes
take on a glassy look as he stares at the crisp white sheet of paper with his
signature scrawled across the bottom; the tight curves of his handwriting stare
back at him. A few moments pass and he sighs again. Rigel leans back in his
chair, cringing at the high-pitched squeal it admits as metal rubs against
metal. He runs his fingers through his hair, mussing the once meticulously
placed gray strands.
“How did it come to this?” there is no one in the room
with him.
“Look at you, now you’re talking to yourself, pull it
together.”
He stands and paces the room a few times before stopping
in front of an abstractly shaped mirror, somewhat resembling a painters pallet
that has been cut into pieces. Frowning into the mirror his hand finds a corner
of the glass and shoves it aside, it moves easily without a sound, unlike his
chair. The small cupboard houses a myriad of hygiene products, among which lies
a small black plastic comb that Rigel retrieves. Turning the comb over and over
slowly in his hands, he stares at it but doesn’t seem to see it. Yet another
sigh from his lips brings his eyes back into focus. Rigel taps the comb against
his palm, runs it through his hair and then places it back into the mirrored
compartment. As he slides the mirror closed he puffs his cheeks out in an odd
gesture before letting them fall slack against his bones again.
Rigel crosses the room and sits back at his desk. His
glance lands on the piece of paper once more and then shifts to a cabinet to
his left. On his feet once more he pulls a key from desk draw and uses it to
unlock the cabinet revealing several bottles of liquids, most of which are one
shade of amber or another. Idly, he sets the key on top of the cabinet then
runs his fingers across a couple of the bottles. They are unmarked bottles,
each clear textured glass. He taps a well-trimmed fingernail against one
half-full bottle of clear liquid. A diamond cufflink clinks against a small
matching glass as he pulls them both off of the shelf and sets them next to the
key on top of the cabinet. A small drop splashes onto the wood as he pours the
liquid into the cup. After downing that
in one drink, he pours another and carries it with him back to his desk.
Once again he sees his signature on the letter. Once
again he sighs. Continuing to stare at the paper, he sips his liquor. A knock
at the door draws his attention. He sits up right and sets the glass down.
“Come in,” he says
His office door eases open a foot and stops; his
daughter’s head slides in through the narrow opening and smiles at him. A warm
smile crosses Rigel’s face as well as he beckons her to join him. Like a spy
trying not to be seen, she slides her slender frame through the small opening
and closes the door immediately behind her as opposed to opening it wider and
walking directly in.
“Hi Daddy,” she says.
“Hi Princess …” he responds.
He
cocks and eyebrow at her as she crosses the room, making no explanation for her
actions. As she walks she buries her hands into the front pockets of her jeans.
She has pushed her arms in as deep as the will go into the tight, black fabric;
which gives her arms a rigid appearance and makes her slump over a touch. She
sits on the edge of one of the chairs opposite of him and smiles again.
“Is that the letter, Daddy?”
“Yes, Bria.”
“So … it’s all but done then?”
“Yes, Bria.”
“Well, it’s probably for the best.”
“Princess?”
“Yeah, Daddy?”
“What are you hiding out there, Bria?”
“Oh, uh, well mom asked me to come get you. There are
some men outside who say that they are from the Federation, they want to see
you, Dad. I don’t think that they are here about the letter. They’re armed,”
She speaks the last part much more softly.
Rigel
