Free Pending by Clint Gleason Page B

the pool, the gym. I was told that things had
to be different after a certain age, to focus on each individual’s work commitment.
Not sure why that would make a difference. It doesn’t make sense. Fuck it.
    I’ve decided to start writing
again. Not going to burn what I wrote anymore. I regret it now. They reminded me
of her. When it was wonderful to be around her and talk to her. Look at her. Even
kiss her. Before her work commitment was up. Before they took her from me.
    Maybe it will help. The pain
is nearly unbearable. I can feel it inside me, though I can’t tell exactly where
it is, possibly in my stomach and chest. I wish I could find it, shake it and wake
it up, make it stronger, or destroy it so it would stop hurting.
    Don’t feel like writing anymore
today. Maybe tomorrow.

ENTRY 8
     
    I’m drinking coffee. They
actually encourage it. I like it because it helps me stay focused. Think I’ll have
another cup now. Glad I did. So tasty and rich with its deep, bold flavor. I’m writing
about coffee because I don’t know what else to write about. It’s been a while, but
I remember from class that if you just keep writing something important could arise.
Class. All those fucking classes.
    I heard one of the Facility
Three employees say fuck when I was a kid, and I liked the reaction it got, so now
I say it whenever I want to piss someone off. It works. I’m also constantly saying
it inside my head when I have to watch another one of those damn videos that show
the sunshiny goodness of what the others and I do for the surface, where I am not
yet. Pamphlets, classes, and videos every week ad nauseam. The same thing over and
over shoved down my throat. Do they not realize that it’s only a matter of time
before I get so full that I throw up?
    Keep having sticky dreams.
Can’t stop thinking about women, so I think about the surface often, what will happen
once I get up there, and who I’ll meet. Everything I’ve done has prepared me for
it.
    My room is littered with the
few magazines that they let me read. UP TOP is my favorite. It’s filled with
stories of what people want to do once their work commitment is up. They’re mostly
inspirational stories about how much people enjoy creating energy and how it helps
those on the surface.
    I’ve received the annual magazine,
and they keep hinting at how they’ll include pictures from up top and all sorts
of information about the surface, but the editorials keep stating that they’re backlogged.
Sounds like bullshit.
    When I get up top I’m going
to meet a woman and have a family. It’s what I want most. There are no women who
work at the facility right now. Well, none that I’ve seen. Maybe it’s why I’ve been
thinking about them so much. My desire for them is intense, all consuming; it’s
all I think about. It isn’t just the sex that I want—that I think I want, since
I’ve never had it—I also want a relationship.
    It can’t be healthy for a
man in his twenties to not have sex. I’ve heard as a man gets older his desire slowly
dissipates. Well, mine hasn’t done that yet, and I don’t want to wait until it dissipates
before having sex. I can’t. I feel like I’m going to explode. The sticky dreams
seem to help for a bit but not long enough.
    More coffee.
    I wish I could use my power.
I’m referring to it as my power from now on, though not around management. I would
conjure a woman for me during the night. It’s getting to the point where I can’t
sleep very well, and it’s affecting my work during the day.
    ***
    I ran into a technician in
the hallway. “Could I spend time with some women?”
    The technician clearly wasn’t
ready for that. He looked at me as if I spoke a different language. He tried to
hold back his laughter but couldn’t. He wasn’t in charge, and even though the things
he said weren’t what I wanted to hear, I hoped he’d relay what I said to those who
were in charge.
    “Questions are against protocol.
You know