Auriga
12-11-2010, 02:14 PM
This is the first part of a series of stories I’m working on inspired by the great work of modern classical music of the same name by the composer Mussorgsky.
http://www.iwriteandstuff.com
The driver was a simple man with simple ideas. He drove his truck and its contents to locations determined on a slip of paper handed down to him from his boss. The system worked and the driver had no intention of calling question to it anytime soon.
The truck rolled into town at ten minuets past four in the morning. The driver, tired but alert with three energy drinks pumping through his digestive tract, made his way towards the underground rail-road system to deliver the shipment which was resting with ease upon the wall of the trailer. The early morning dew was beginning to form on the changing leaves. The dew buds magnified the yellow, red, orange and brown pigments of the beautiful dying leaves. The driver, not paying attention to this change on the other side of the window which separated him, pulled over. He reached his destination.
The lock holding the back of the trailer shut was a simple lock, by lock standards and it seemed to do its job like any lock should. As he inserted the key and turned the mechanism, the bolt lifted out of place and the hinge swung freely. He never examined the lock beyond what it was meant to do, and never did he consider the complicated process by which a simple object with a singular purpose, like a lock, went through to get to the point at which it could function like it should. It did its job and that was enough for him.
He climbed into the back of the trailer, resting the lock on the side for safe keeping. The contents of the trailer, which would soon be adorning the walls of the underground train station, were covered with simple white sheets tied shut with a cord. He didn’t know what the sheets were covering, because they had been delivered to him as he now found them. His curiosity for what they might contain was limited to the possibility of a paycheque for safe delivery and return. He thought to himself that what they should contain ought to interest those who they were designed for, and not for truck drivers who delivered them.
For what little did he know and for what might seem like an odd environment for them to be unveiled, the contents of the truck driver’s trailer were a small collection of modern art pieces which would soon make their new exhibit on the floors of the largest metro station in the city.
http://www.iwriteandstuff.com
The driver was a simple man with simple ideas. He drove his truck and its contents to locations determined on a slip of paper handed down to him from his boss. The system worked and the driver had no intention of calling question to it anytime soon.
The truck rolled into town at ten minuets past four in the morning. The driver, tired but alert with three energy drinks pumping through his digestive tract, made his way towards the underground rail-road system to deliver the shipment which was resting with ease upon the wall of the trailer. The early morning dew was beginning to form on the changing leaves. The dew buds magnified the yellow, red, orange and brown pigments of the beautiful dying leaves. The driver, not paying attention to this change on the other side of the window which separated him, pulled over. He reached his destination.
The lock holding the back of the trailer shut was a simple lock, by lock standards and it seemed to do its job like any lock should. As he inserted the key and turned the mechanism, the bolt lifted out of place and the hinge swung freely. He never examined the lock beyond what it was meant to do, and never did he consider the complicated process by which a simple object with a singular purpose, like a lock, went through to get to the point at which it could function like it should. It did its job and that was enough for him.
He climbed into the back of the trailer, resting the lock on the side for safe keeping. The contents of the trailer, which would soon be adorning the walls of the underground train station, were covered with simple white sheets tied shut with a cord. He didn’t know what the sheets were covering, because they had been delivered to him as he now found them. His curiosity for what they might contain was limited to the possibility of a paycheque for safe delivery and return. He thought to himself that what they should contain ought to interest those who they were designed for, and not for truck drivers who delivered them.
For what little did he know and for what might seem like an odd environment for them to be unveiled, the contents of the truck driver’s trailer were a small collection of modern art pieces which would soon make their new exhibit on the floors of the largest metro station in the city.