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batsutousaiTitle: Squaring Stairs
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batsutousai
Summary: Around and around and around.
A/N: A short story to accompany M.C. Escher's 1960 work titled Ascending and Descending.
Squaring Stairs
Great building in the middle of a "somewhere" that is really a "nowhere" - but saying it's in the middle of nowhere is too clichéd for us to say. Level upon level of nonsensical staircases and grand ceilings that seem far too tall once you've stepped inside – the building really doesn't look all that tall on the outside. Square domes pop up out those old flat-top ceilings when they have gotten boring – because it simply can't be boring – and there's not room for circular domes; who would want a circle in a square? Pure geometric shapes don't match up together in this modern world set on fitting in with the masses.
Around and around and around. It's so monotonous. The same, day after day after day after day after— There are five floors. And a square tower. There was said to have been a bell there once, but they wanted a square bell - to match the rest of the square building – and it just didn't sound the same as a circular bell – too flat – so the tower stands alone atop the building. Useless.
Around and around and around. It never changes, day after day after day after day after— The underground level is cold and dank...and forbidden. They'll drive you out into the middle of the of burning sands – somewhere between here and the ever unreachable "freedom" – if they catch you snooping around down there. Rumor has it they kill people down there and they're too kind – they just want all the credit – to have you be an accessory to yet another devastating crime.
Around and around and around. Pure geometric shapes and the same old cracks, day after day after day after day after— The main level is filled with stifling white-walled offices – formal to the point of ridiculous and dull to the point of suicide. Paper-pushing jobs for those who can't stand the heat of guard duty can be found there. Or for those who are too pale and beautiful – better that they can be within staring distance – to subject them to that burning sunlight. So kind, your keepers.
Around and around and around. The stairs ever rising, day after day after day after day after— The second level is the break level, where you can relax once they've relieved you. The deck is there – a patio with no exit except through that long-shattered window with glass from the frame reaching out to tear your sweat-soaked clothing – and the garden – there are people working there too, those with green thumbs and blind eyes – and no air, because air conditioning is cursed, so they say.
Around and around and around. Never going down, day after day after day after day after— The third level is where they hide your rooms – cramped together in a too small space so you can smell like one another all day and night. At the top of the building – boil in the rising heat, you're only as useful alive as you are dead, and you smell putrid, no matter which you are – or, almost the top. Your "perch" is still above you.
Around and around and around. You've passed that tower before, day after day after day after day after— The guard post is at top of the tower that no one can get to, because the bell never existed and the broken ladder has never been replaced. So you have to circle around the ever rising square stairs – denying all common sense like only they can manage – and pass the same things every day. Don't stop looking out into distance, hoping for a truck or a plane or a sandstorm or the end of the world or— ANYTHING!
Around and around and around. Looking out at the endless nothing, day after day after day after day after...
.
Author:
batsutousaiSummary: Around and around and around.
A/N: A short story to accompany M.C. Escher's 1960 work titled Ascending and Descending.
Great building in the middle of a "somewhere" that is really a "nowhere" - but saying it's in the middle of nowhere is too clichéd for us to say. Level upon level of nonsensical staircases and grand ceilings that seem far too tall once you've stepped inside – the building really doesn't look all that tall on the outside. Square domes pop up out those old flat-top ceilings when they have gotten boring – because it simply can't be boring – and there's not room for circular domes; who would want a circle in a square? Pure geometric shapes don't match up together in this modern world set on fitting in with the masses.
Around and around and around. It's so monotonous. The same, day after day after day after day after— There are five floors. And a square tower. There was said to have been a bell there once, but they wanted a square bell - to match the rest of the square building – and it just didn't sound the same as a circular bell – too flat – so the tower stands alone atop the building. Useless.
Around and around and around. It never changes, day after day after day after day after— The underground level is cold and dank...and forbidden. They'll drive you out into the middle of the of burning sands – somewhere between here and the ever unreachable "freedom" – if they catch you snooping around down there. Rumor has it they kill people down there and they're too kind – they just want all the credit – to have you be an accessory to yet another devastating crime.
Around and around and around. Pure geometric shapes and the same old cracks, day after day after day after day after— The main level is filled with stifling white-walled offices – formal to the point of ridiculous and dull to the point of suicide. Paper-pushing jobs for those who can't stand the heat of guard duty can be found there. Or for those who are too pale and beautiful – better that they can be within staring distance – to subject them to that burning sunlight. So kind, your keepers.
Around and around and around. The stairs ever rising, day after day after day after day after— The second level is the break level, where you can relax once they've relieved you. The deck is there – a patio with no exit except through that long-shattered window with glass from the frame reaching out to tear your sweat-soaked clothing – and the garden – there are people working there too, those with green thumbs and blind eyes – and no air, because air conditioning is cursed, so they say.
Around and around and around. Never going down, day after day after day after day after— The third level is where they hide your rooms – cramped together in a too small space so you can smell like one another all day and night. At the top of the building – boil in the rising heat, you're only as useful alive as you are dead, and you smell putrid, no matter which you are – or, almost the top. Your "perch" is still above you.
Around and around and around. You've passed that tower before, day after day after day after day after— The guard post is at top of the tower that no one can get to, because the bell never existed and the broken ladder has never been replaced. So you have to circle around the ever rising square stairs – denying all common sense like only they can manage – and pass the same things every day. Don't stop looking out into distance, hoping for a truck or a plane or a sandstorm or the end of the world or— ANYTHING!
Around and around and around. Looking out at the endless nothing, day after day after day after day after...
.
