Archive for the ‘Jeremiah Tolbert’ Category
Bullet Ride
Thursday, May 24th, 2007
Our reentry pods skip across the over Africa to South America in a handful of seconds and Jessie is screaming like she did when we snuck off to ride the Dubai coasters while my parents negotiated treaties with her parents in Geneva. The Mission Control people are chuckling over the comm, so I guess it’s not uncommon for return trippers to treat the whole thing like just another amusement park ride.
I hated the coasters. The only reason I ever rode them was because Jessie would let me feel her up afterwards. I hate this just as much, and I am pretty sure I just wet myself or worse. My heart is bouncing off my rib cages like a raver on E-plus.
“The problem with you,” Jessie said to me below the coaster while I puked my lunch onto the sizzling-hot pavement, “is that you just can’t let go. You need to conquer your fear of death and make it work for you.”
Hence our trip back from the L5 station as bullets fired at the Earth’s atmosphere inside goo-filled pods.
She’s going to fuck me when we land.
So it’s probably worth it.
“Parachutes to deploy in t-minus eight,” a woman’s voice says through my comm. “There will be a slight bump.”
I feel the bump, only it’s more like a maglev train crashing into a brick wall. Jessie stops screaming. The silence scares me more than the screaming.
I’m surrounded by impact, g-resistant gel, so I can barely move my fingers to text: Jessie?
No answer. I hit my panic button.
“Remain calm,” says the woman’s voice. “Your reentry pod is functioning normally.” I can hear frantic argument behind her, but I can’t make out the words.
What about Jessie? I text as fast as I can. The pressure is letting up. I can feel gravity’s pull at my feet again, and the pod is swaying gently.
No answer.
I’m not dumb. I know what’s happened. Jessie was my best friend, maybe my only friend. But all I can think is, Shit. Now I’m never going to lose my virginity.
My Job
Friday, April 27th, 2007
I don’t mind telling you that I am great at what I do. All it takes is a little creativity and a seething hatred of the rich and powerful. I was born with an eye for composition, and I inherited a propensity for the second.
My parents were French immigrants. As a child, my mother told stories of the Revolution that had been passed down to her by her mother, all the way back to France. She said Robespierre was the great, great grand uncle of her father’s father. My childhood toy was a miniature guillotine. I held trials for my sister’s dolls.
An uncle bought me a camera. I liked it better. Liked taking pictures of people at their worst. I was there when Jacko dangled that baby out of a balcony. I was there when Lady Di bought it in the limo. Got some great low-angle shots of that one. Someone offered me a job. I don’t know who. The paychecks are deposited directly into my account. Anonymous email delivers my week’s targets. I have my theories as to who my bosses are, but it doesn’t matter, and I don’t actually care.
They gave me a computer with the job. The computer has a database containing the contact information for everyone connected to the entertainment industry. Even people that are supposed to be dead. Yeah, even him.
Most celebrities are dull. They work long hours pretending to be someone else, so much that they don’t even know why they are themselves. Not one of them has anything interesting to say that hasn’t been written down for them.
Stupid primates, we are. We’re conditioned to respect and admire the beautiful people. They’re our alpha apes. That they’re boring and shallow is what makes them dangerous. A clever bastard can manipulate celebrities, use them as pretty mouthpieces. The rest listen to what the pretty people say.
So? I destroy their respectability. Spread rumors. Upload sex tapes. The only rule is that I can’t do anything to affect their profitability. I’m sure you’ve seen my work. The hamster story? Mine. That last sex tape? I leaked it. Gay rumors? Always true, but I’m responsible for you hearing about them. America is desperate for royalty, and it’s my job to make sure nobody is suitable for the title.
And I fucking love my job.