Creativity Will Save the World, Pt. 16

A few days passed. I never slept. When I was finally ready to give up on ever sleeping again, finally brave enough to risk turning on something electronic, I sat in front of my computer. The banal nonsense I would have normally occupied my mind with couldn’t be summoned.

Instead I thought of Lisa. Of my other coworkers. Of Dr. Shiny.

Shiny. There were traces of the man here and there, references to him on blogs and in other ephemeral places. Blogs and accounts that went silent no more than a few weeks after the first mention of Shiny.

Searching for Wyatt Shine somehow turned up even less information. The man didn’t even have a website. There were just references to him appearing at conferences, hosting seminars, giving presentations. The trend held true here as well; the businesses the man spoke at soon folded, or were absorbed, or simply seemed to vanish from the face of the earth.

I thought about Lisa’s mad words, of locks and doors and Shiny opening everything and how he was going to save the world. I tried to imagine the ways in which a murderer would think the world would need saving, and what that saving would look like. It made me sick.

But it galvanized me, too. I could see a world in lockstep with Shiny’s insane faith, a world of fanatics all screaming and praising each other and following their own perverse moral and ethical and artistic codes. If those thoughts even occurred to them. If they were not just organic machines acting blindly. A building full of people all carrying out Shiny’s programming.

Be creative. Save the world. Open the door.

But why open the door? Well, it doesn’t take any great imagination to know that you open doors so that you can let something in.

A few days had passed. I knew from the start what I would have to do, but it took me time to find the strength to do it.

I have a clean record, so passing the background check was no problem. All I had to do was endure the waiting period, but that gave me time to watch the office and to plan. I sat in a car parked across the street, watching as delivery men and custodians and part-time employees entered the building, but no one ever left.

The plan was so simple, it was almost elegant. I visualized the building in my head, tried to appraise it with a tactician’s eye. Choke points. Kill zones. Ambush spots. They would be poorly armed and disorganized, but I’d be grossly outnumbered. A small mistake on my part would be lethal, I was certain. But I planned and I planned, sketching plans of attack, studying human anatomy, practicing my aim, thinking of the lies I would use to allay the suspicions of my coworkers until it was too late for them.

As I walked up to my office door, gravel crunching underfoot, the weight of steel and copper and brass heavy on my chest, I smiled to myself. I thought of everything I’d done, the research, the drawing, the practiced movements, the acting.

It was almost creative.

And, fin. Unfortunately, I have a slew of personal obligations the rest of the week, so there likely won’t be another post until after Memorial Day. As always, thank you for reading!


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