admin
22 December 2023
I was jolted from my fitful slumber when six armed men wearing black uniforms kicked down my door and moved into the room in choreographed, crisscross patterns, covering each other in overlapping fields of fire. I was seized with fear, paralyzed with terror. No one said anything to me, but I knew exactly who they were and exactly what was happening.
Night after night, someone else had picked up my bar tab; someone else had bought my way to the movies; someone else had given me a ride home. Finally, I had gone too far, coasting with increasing impunity on the hospitality of my friends, unable to carry my own weight. I guess I pissed them off.
This, then, was a Repo Team, sent here to collect payment.
A work crew moved in behind the assault squad, carrying black toolboxes that opened with a hiss. They removed exotic-looking tools which were used to loosen recessed triangular panels I had never noticed in the corners of the room. A metallic fitting was unsnapped, and with a loud beep, click, and a hiss the walls rolled together. Beyond was crisp white nothing. Needless to say, my jaw hit the floor.
Not daring to move, I watched in morbid fascination as the crew moved on to peel back the windows; the picture of a sun-filled day warping and shrinking like the dot in the center of a TV.
They took everything in 60-seconds flat. The bed, my clothes, the room, everything. Two more technicians in bio-suits entered, wheeling a large silver tank. They jerked my head back and applied a rubber mask to my face, and I felt a tube crawl down my throat on its own power. I thrashed about helplessly, unable to move, as they siphoned the very air from my lungs.
One of them shoved a large, digital clipboard in front of me, his gesture demanding that I sign for services rendered. I was too confused to do anything else. I scrawled something on the bottom line, and they left through a porthole where my walls used to be, which slammed shut with a clang. The distinctive pop of pressurization tickled my ears as the walls settled back into milky white perfection. The door finally disappeared.
I sat there in the crisp white nothing, which began to grow gray as my brain began to slowly wither from oxygen deprivation. I had no air with which to scream for help, and even if there were, I could not direct anyone to my aid.
Night after night, someone else had picked up my bar tab; someone else had bought my way to the movies; someone else had given me a ride home. Finally, I had gone too far, coasting with increasing impunity on the hospitality of my friends, unable to carry my own weight. I guess I pissed them off.
This, then, was a Repo Team, sent here to collect payment.
A work crew moved in behind the assault squad, carrying black toolboxes that opened with a hiss. They removed exotic-looking tools which were used to loosen recessed triangular panels I had never noticed in the corners of the room. A metallic fitting was unsnapped, and with a loud beep, click, and a hiss the walls rolled together. Beyond was crisp white nothing. Needless to say, my jaw hit the floor.
Not daring to move, I watched in morbid fascination as the crew moved on to peel back the windows; the picture of a sun-filled day warping and shrinking like the dot in the center of a TV.
They took everything in 60-seconds flat. The bed, my clothes, the room, everything. Two more technicians in bio-suits entered, wheeling a large silver tank. They jerked my head back and applied a rubber mask to my face, and I felt a tube crawl down my throat on its own power. I thrashed about helplessly, unable to move, as they siphoned the very air from my lungs.
One of them shoved a large, digital clipboard in front of me, his gesture demanding that I sign for services rendered. I was too confused to do anything else. I scrawled something on the bottom line, and they left through a porthole where my walls used to be, which slammed shut with a clang. The distinctive pop of pressurization tickled my ears as the walls settled back into milky white perfection. The door finally disappeared.
I sat there in the crisp white nothing, which began to grow gray as my brain began to slowly wither from oxygen deprivation. I had no air with which to scream for help, and even if there were, I could not direct anyone to my aid.
artid
2020
Old Image
6_6_repoman.jpg
issue
vol 6 - issue 06 (feb 2004)
section
pen_think