He scanned the street from his first story window, and couldn’t help but wonder what all the people were in such a hurry for. He shouted at no one in particular, “Wake up people! The American dream is consuming you!”
“Go to hell!” someone shouted back at him.
“If you only knew,” he said to himself.
This was his hell. This place where he didn’t belong. Where people all around him were busy zipping around like little choreographed robots, all the while shining fake smiles. They traveled in herds, all thinking alike, afraid to question the norm. Of course, he was often hustling around trying to make ends meet, and to an observer he may seem like one of these robots at times. But, and this is an important distinction, the scales have been lifted from his eyes, and he is now aware. He had stumbled upon something, and he didn't exactly know what the repercussions would be. But despite his disillusionment with the system, he couldn't bring himself to jump off the hamster-wheel. That is until he had no choice.
The air was getting chilly, and a breeze picked up. He pulled the window closed, flipped the latch, and drew the curtains. He went to his laptop and put on some ambient music, to fill the silence. He couldn’t stand there not being music playing when he did anything. He went to the kitchen, slid open the junk drawer, and pulled out his corkscrew. Opening the fridge, he saw his perfectly chilled bottle of Alice White, grabbed it and began cutting the foil.
He had the corkscrew halfway in the cork when a loud crash made him knock the bottle onto the floor where it smashed into pieces. His door lay in his living room floor in splinters, hinges dangling from the frame. Men in black tactical suits came rushing in. He knew they’d come for him. It had begun.