The Rocketman And The Tiny Dancer - The Ominous Enigma (Ft. "The Astronaut")
Freedomville
Part One
"HHHHMMMM!"
The Rocketman slowly and soundly inhaled the fuel into his wide nostrils, not leaving a single snowflake on top of the baby nursing surface. When his head was lifted, the reflection of The Rocketman stared back at him with a stoic expression. There was a dusting of a "milk mustace" stuck to his nose, causing a wide grin to spread from ear to ear.
"Don't."
A voice under his skull whispered into the grinning man's logic. A rhythmic tone that crash landed in The Rocketman's "Cockpit".
A voice that would be dubbed "The Astronaut."
The Rocketman's chilling smile deflated to a straight line.
That's when he heard the sound of a stall opening, footsteps exited, and the stall was shut.
But only one set of footsteps was heard, and they were not of a woman's.
The Rocketman waited a moment. The automated sink began to run, yet still just one set of footsteps. When too long of a moment passed, his "Cockpit" flexed up and down.
The Rocketman looked into his reflection once more. He wiped the leftover fuel from the curve of his nostrils and sucked the residuals from his thumb.
The Rocketman was deaf exiting the nursing room, his footsteps almost nonexistent. The activation of an electronic hand dryer helped to muffle his exit, also striking curiosity in his bewilderment.
Peaking around the corner toward the sinks and stalls, spotting a lone caucasion man in a casual business attire. Blue shirt with a white collar, tan slacks with a white belt looped around his waist and white Sperrys on his feet made up his outfit. He was drying his hands with the heat of the electric dryer, his back turned casually toward The Rocketman.
He stared at the businessman's back for a few seconds before checking the opening at the bottom of the stalls. The Rocketman saw the mistreated and inactive legs of a woman in an odd position. It looked as though the woman was slumped forward in front of the occupied stall's toilet.
Once standing erect again, he stared through the businessman for a moment. The caucasion man even paused and looked left and right, but continued to dry his hands.
The Rocketman casually and quietly approached the businessman, but paused when the electric dryer ceased. The businessman was on the verge of turning toward the exit, toward the soundless strut, before rubbing his hands together.
"Fuck! These things never dry all the way the first time." The businessman complained, sticking his hands beneath the dryer and activating its sensors.
The slow strut began again, a ghost crept up on the unbeknownst fellow. When The Rocketman got closer, the sink to the left of him had faint traces of a foreign red waters. The closer he got, the more a familiar scent of blood seeped into his wide sinuses.
The silent man reached the personal space of the businessman, close enough for his burning gaze to singe the forming hair on the neck of the unbeknowing.
To the very right of the two of them was the last stall, a taped red X marked its door. The Rocketman could see the stillness of a woman's black flats, this time noting the damning condition he was able to spot up close.
"Disrespect. Gluttony. Cowardly. All by the familial stench of lust contaminated. The Crimson Verdict is.....APPROVED! To the on on and beyond."
"The Astronaut" instructed so loud within the "Cockpit," it was switched to...."Autopilot."
That's when the machine stopped and the businessman turned toward The Rocketman, surprised at the overbearing presence.
"Oh!" The businessman exclaimed in a shocked flare. "Uh.... I didn't know anyone else was in here." He explained in a voice attempting to hide his guilt.
But "The Astronaut" could hear, smell and feel the deceit of the caucasion man's unwarranted explanation, causing a cold grin to spread across The Rocketman's nonchalant expression.
"Oh, I'm sorry to have startled you, sir. That was never my first, second or third intention." The Rocketman suavely assured the tumultuous fellow, waving his cinnamon hands cautiously in front of the vanilla face.
"How about your fourth? Heh." The businessman nervously jested in response, attempting to mask his conspicuously shaking deception. Chuckling softly behind the gag, hoping to loosen the strange grip he felt around his thoughts.
There was no mutual laughter. Instead, the caucasion man felt rugged stoned shivs poking holes in his composure.
The Rocketman's chilling grin was frozen on the pulchritude of his expression. The "Regular Universe" as "The Astronaut" so passionately called it percieved The Rocketman as a beautiful being with smooth textured aura of tenderness. That is because "The Astronaut" percieved the majority of atoms precariously floating from wherever the universe begins to where it ends are just using one another to further the structuring growth of their naive conformity.
From fathers to sons, mothers to daughters, presidents to terrorists, saints to sinners, priests to satanists, Gods to Demons. They all revolve around their own ideals and ethics of "right or wrong" toward the denomination of "Peace". Which only circulates back to the world's occupants' inability to conquer or much less register the necessity of disaster and chaos.
It was a rhetoric that has been branded into the algorithm of the "Cockpit" of The Rocketman, becoming a formulated itinerary for his complex mechanism. The radicism within the "Cockpit" of the in otherwise mysterious being.
There were only three in this conformist striken world that has the pure stigma of The Rocketman's tenderness.
His Mothership
His Father god
And his Tiny Dancer
They were the only beings of reality that knows of The Rocketman's personal demeanor under, over, in front of and behind closed doors and open interactions. His need for systematic punctuality, the potential for desires of free discipline, and his search for the intelligent of demi or sapiosexuality.
Everyone else or any other atom in the "Regular Universe" are just..... sheep of convient normalcy, snakes with poisonous envies, and predated for sacrificial slaughter.
The businessman was no exception. In fact, he easily summarizes the diagnosis as a living explanation for the infinities of the very meak them.
After a few agonizing moments trying to decipher The Rocketman's being, the businessman tries to sever the noose tightening around his conscience.
"Uh... If you'll excuse me, I just.... just need to get by you." The white collar slave attested decadently, scratching the crown of his head before motioning toward the exit.
"Oh, but of course. By all means, my good man, please proceed to what I hope would be a productive day." The Rocketman responded in kind with a breath of charm, shifting to his right to present the businessman with a clear path to the exit.
The businessman nervously exhale a lone chuckle, sprinkling half a grain of semblance to continue on his not-so-marry way.... But couldn't shake the suffocating energies eminating from the domineering presence.
The businessman's amber oculars stayed on what looked like the most glistening shade of black painted over The Rocketman's windows. Of all the abnormalities, the fact that his eyes didnt meet the businessman's made each step felt like cement blocks on his feet while skiing thru quicksand.
Regardless, the businessman didn't want to miss his chance. He began moving toward the exit, each step more confident than the last as he got closer to freedom.
"Oh, just..... Just one more thing, my good man." The Rocketman said, putting his hand on the businessman's shoulder without turning to face him.
"I.... I really should get goimg." The businessman insisted with a studder. Sweat brewed immediately above his brow, under his armpits and behind his neck.
"Yes Yes. I completely understand. The Rocketman sympathized and nodded agreeingly. That's when he finally met the amber of the businessman.
"Its just that I am a very curious sapio being. One could never know enough, forever the neophyte if you will. I have a possibly plain inquiry that I'd like answered if possible." The Rocketman explained thru his grin, putting his free index finger on the middle of his forehead in a thinking gesture. He never released his grip on the businessman's shoulder. "You seem smarter than most, or atleast smart enough. So, I'd like to... pick your brain, so to speak."
The white collar slave alternated between the sight of The Rocketman and the path to the exit. It was the hand of the intimidating figure that was an anchor on a punctured raft, and The Rocketman's vibe was a tsunami in murky waters.
The businessman attempted to diacretely wipe the sweat from his brow with a scratch before asking in a shaky voice, "What.... What could that be?"
The Rocketman's grin split alittle wider.
He pointed toward the stall and proceeded to ask,
"That stall at the very end there. I've used this restroom many times before due to my..... "business" shall we say." He stated, using air quotes with his free hand to visibly qualify his consistent attendance. "And that red X on the door, do you by chance know its original meaning?"
The businessman's line of sight followed the direction of The Rocketman's point toward the stall door. He looked back toward the intimidating presence, but could never center his sight to meet The Rocketman's. Even glancing thru his peripherals, his vision becomes hazy as though he was no longer allowed to face the tremendous existence.
"I'm, uh... not exactly sure. Heh." The businessman responded as best he could, exhaling a slight chuckle to add personality to an in otherwise terse answer. "Trust me, man, I'm not as smart as I look. Um, this get-up is just to keep up appearances and make the boss happy." He try to explain, denouncing his costume to simply appeasing society's order.
"No noose." "The Astronaut" whispered to The Rocketman's curiosity.
This persuaded The Rocketman, shifting his vision to the businessman's collar. That's when he noticed the two collar buttons were unfastened.
"No tie?" He asked, staring for the caucasion man's response. "Surely , such immortalized fossil fueled obligations would require the rigamorale of a white collar noose."
The businessman peered at his collar and turned ghost white like the curiosity snatched the soul from him.
The dominant presence didn't bother to have his agitation activated by a patronizing response.
"If you could be a dear," The Rocketman began, "Could you open the stall for me? Hmm, my imagination is a nuke dropping in lava."
"C'mon man. I really have to get back to work before I'm late, or my boss is going to shit on me." The businessman begged with serious intentions.
And by that response did the tension become a burning six furnaces.
"I MUST INSIST."
....../\ <~~(To Be Continued)