The Pencil pages 13-14

The Pencil

For the next few months

The Twist

Blitzed the city, the world

With advertising.

High profile, flashy spots

Intended to make

The Twist

Look like a savior, basically.

While a smear campaign

Was slated to make

The Plain Man

Appear to be

An anarchist, ‘

An insurrectionist,

A devil.

The Twist

S m i l e d.

He loved the power

That his media possessed.

But,

The Plain Man

Only became more popular.

The Twist

Kicked a nearby television.

“All that money for

Worthless ads

And all he seems to use is

Word of mouth

And personal experiences

From satisfied customers!

Arrggh!”

He tore his Armani blazer

In furiation and disgust.

His animal-like “arrggh” verbally altered

As he glanced at the

Company’s glowing sign

Outside his wall-sized window.

The words on the sign

Spoke to him.

He let the words

Dance on his curled lips

Which rose into a hideous

Expression on his darkly lit face.

It was Friday night

Right around closing time

At DEATH PRESS.

Most of the employees

Had clocked out

Or…

At least that’s what

The Twist

Wanted

The Plain Man

To believe.

An employee,

A seemingly, sympathetic follower

Of the Plain Man,

A follower if you will,

Betrayed his trust.

He promised a meeting

But set up an ambush

In the depths

Of DEATH PRESS.

They met

The Plain Man

At the core of

DEATH PRESS.

The massive machine,

The printing press

Was used to produce

All the literature,

Magazines, journals,

You name it.

It sprawled out below;

Pins and rollers,

Paper and ink,

Metal and steel,

Coldly sat.

It waited…waited

For the next bit of news

To broadcast

To the world.

The Plain Man

Walked across the walkway

Down to the metal cage that was

Built around the great machine.

Every step he took

E c h o e d

Around the great dark hall.

He touched the beast

Of a machine

And it seemed to shudder

Under his touch.

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About gpavants

I am a writer and a teacher. I feel my platform is to encourage people to live a life of faith.
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